The  mysterv  girl  had  entered  and  closed  ihe  door. 


The 

•Valley  of  Silent  Men 

A  Story  of  the  Three  River  Country 


BY 


JAMES  OLIVER  CURWOQD 

Author  of  "The  River's ''End,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  B 

DEAN  CORmVELL 


@iopolitan  Book  @oration 

NEW  YORK  MCMXX 


•  *  •  Cbpyrightt  1920,  by 

BOOK  CORPORATION 


•All  Rights' Reserved,  including  that  oj  translation 

into  foreign  languages,  including 

the  Scandinavian 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  MYSTERY  GIRL  HAD  ENTERED  AND  CLOSED 

THE  DOOR Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

FROM  THE  GIRL'S  REVOLVER  LEAPED  FORTH  A 
SUDDEN  SPURT  OF  SMOKE  AND  FLAME  .      .     148 

"MARETTE"!  IT  WAS  ALL  HE  SAID       .     .     .     202 

THE   ROCK    HAD   CUT    THE    CORD   AND    SHE 
WAS  GONE!   ,  260 


44G530 


VALLEY  of 
SILENT     MEN 


BEFORE  the  railroad's  thin  lines  of  steel  bit  their 
way  up  through  the  wilderness,  Athabasca  Land 
ing  was  the  picturesque  threshold  over  which  one  must 
step  who  would  enter  into  the  mystery  and  adven 
ture  of  the  great  white  North.  It, is  still  Iskwatam— 
the  "door"  which  opens  to  the  loVe ;  reaches  cliche 
Athabasca,  the  Slave,  and  the  Mackenzie  It/rs.scme-< 
what  difficult  to  find  on  the  map/ yet  it  is  Ucrey^e"-" 
cause  its  history  is  written  in  more  than  a,  hundred 
and  forty  years  of  romance  and  tragedy  and  adventure 
in  the  lives  of  men,  and  is  not  easily  forgotten.  Over 
the  old  trail  it  was  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
north  of  Edmonton.  The  railroad  has  brought  it 
nearer  to  that  base  of  civilization,  but  beyond  it  the 
wilderness  still  howls  as  it  has  howled  for  a  thousand 
years,  and  the  waters  of  a  continent  flow  north  and 
into  the  Arctic  Ocean.  It  is  possible  that  the  beautiful 
dream  of  the  real-estate  dealers  may  come  true,  for 
the  most  avid  of  all  the  sportsmen  of  the  earth,  the 
money-hunters,  have  come  up  on  the  bumpy  railroad 


2  THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

that  sometimes  lights  its  sleeping  cars  with  lanterns, 
and  with  them  have  come  typewriters,  and  stenog 
raphers,  and  the  art  of  printing  advertisements,  and 
the  Golden  Rule  of  those  who  sell  handfuls  of  earth 
to  hopeful  purchasers  thousands  of  miles  away — 
"Do  others  as  they  would  do  you."  And  with  it,  too, 
has  come  the  legitimate  business  of  barter  and  trade, 
with  eyes  on  all  that  treasure  of  the  North  which  lies 
between  the  Grand  Rapids  of  the  Athabasca  and  the 
edge  of  the  polar  sea.  But  still  more  beautiful  than 
the  dream  of  fortunes  quickly  made  is  the  deep-forest 
superstition  that  the  spirits  of  the  wilderness  dead 
move  onward  as  steam  and  steel  advance,  and  if  this 
is  so,  the  ghosts  of  a  thousand  Pierres  and  Jacquelines 
have  Arisen  tmea^ify:  from  their  graves  at  Athabasca 

,  hunting  .a  new  quiet  farther  north. 
jtrwa-sKerfe' -and  Jacqueline,  Henri  and  Marie, 
Jacques  and  his  Jeanne,  whose  brown  hands  for  a 
hundred  and  forty  years  opened  and  closed  this  door. 
And  those  hands  still  master  a  savage  world  for  two 
thousand  miles  north  of  that  threshold  of  Athabasca 
Landing.  South  of  it  a  wheezy  engine  drags  up  the 
freight  that  came  not  so  many  months  ago  by  boat. 
It  is  over  this  threshold  that  the  dark  eyes  of  Pierre 
and  Jacqueline,  Henri  and  Marie,  Jacques  and  his 
Jeanne,  look  into  the  blue  and  the  gray  and  the  some 
times  watery  ones  of  a  destroying  civilization.  And 
there  it  is  that  the  shriek  of  a  mad  locomotive  mingles 
with  their  age-old  river  chants;  the  smut  of  coal  drifts 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN  3 

over  their  forests ;  the  phonograph  screeches  its  reply 
to  le  violon;  and  Pierre  and  Henri  and  Jacques  no 
longer  find  themselves  the  kings  of  the  earth  when 
they  come  in  from  far  countries  with  their  precious 
cargoes  of  furs.  And  they  no  longer  swagger  and 
tell  loud-voiced  adventure,  or  sing  their  wild  river 
songs  in  the  same  old  abandon,  for  there  are  streets 
at  Athabasca  Landing  now,  and  hotels,  and  schools, 
and  rules  and  regulations  of  a  kind  new  and  terrify 
ing  to  the  bold  of  the  old  voyageurs. 

It  seems  only  yesterday  that  the  railroad  was  not 
there,  and  a  great  world  of  wilderness  lay  between 
the  Landing  and  the  upper  rim  of  civilization.  And 
when  word  first  came  that  a  steam  thing  was  eating 
its  way  up  foot  by  foot  through  forest  and  swamp  and 
impassable  muskeg,  that  word  passed  up  and  down 
the  water-ways  for  two  thousand  miles,  a  colossal 
joke,  a  stupendous  bit  of  drollery,  the  funniest  thing 
that  Pierre  and  Henri  and  Jacques  had  heard  in  all 
their  lives.  And  when  Jacques  wanted  to  impress 
upon  Pierre  his  utter  disbelief  of  a  thing,  he  would 
say: 

"It  will  happen,  m'sieu,  when  the  steam  thing  comes 
to  the  Landing,  when  cow-beasts  eat  with  the  moose, 
and  when  our  bread  is  found  for  us  in  yonder 
swamps !" 

And  the  steam  thing  came,  and  cows  grazed  where 
the  moose  had  fed,  and  bread  was  gathered  close  to 


4  THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  edge  of  the  great  swamps.  Thus  did  civilization 
break  into  Athabasca  Landing. 

Northward  from  the  Landing,  for  two  thousand 
miles,  reached  the  domain  of  the  rivermen.  And  the 
Landing,  with  its  two  hundred  and  twenty-seven  souls 
before  the  railroad  came,  was  the  wilderness  clearing 
house  which  sat  at  the  beginning  of  things.  To  it 
came  from  the  south  all  the  freight  which  must  go 
into  the  north;  on  its  flat  river  front  were  built  the 
great  scows  which  carried  this  freight  to  the  end  of 
the  earth..  It  was  from  the  Landing  that  the  greatest 
of  all  river  brigades  set  forth  upon  their  long  adven 
tures,  and  it  was  back  to  the  Landing,  perhaps  a  year 
or  more  later,  that  still  smaller  scows  and  huge  canoes 
brought  as  the  price  of  exchange  their  cargoes  of  furs. 

Thus  fdf  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  the  larger 
craft,  with  their  great  sweeps  and  their  wild-throated 
crews,  had  gone  down  the  river  toward  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  and  the  smaller  craft,  with  their  still  wilder 
crews,  had  come  up  the  river  toward  civilization.  The 
River,  as  the  Landing  speaks  of  it,  is  the  Athabasca, 
with  its  headwaters  away  off  in  the  British  Columbian 
mountains,  where  Baptiste  and  McLeod,  explorers  of 
old,  gave  up  their  lives  to  find  where  the  cradle  of  it 
lay.  And  it  sweeps  past  the  Landing,  a  slow  and 
mighty  giant,  unswervingly  on  its  way  to  the  northern 
sea.  With  it  the  river  brigades  set  forth.  For  Pierre 
and  Henri  and  Jacques  it  is  going  from  one  end  to 
the  other  of  the  earth.  The  Athabasca  ends  and  is 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN  5 

replaced  by  the  Slave,  and  the  Slave  empties  into 
Great  Slave  Lake,  and  from  the  narrow  tip  of  that 
Lake  the  Mackenzie  carries  on  for  more  than  a  thou 
sand  miles  to  the  sea. 

In  this  distance  of  the  long  water  trail  one  sees 
and  hears  many  things.  It  is  life.  It  is  adventure. 
It  is  mystery  and  romance  and  hazard.  Its  tales  are 
so  many  that  books  could  not  hold  them.  In  the  faces 
of  men  and  women  they  are  written.  They  lie  buried 
in  graves  so  old  that  the  forest  trees  grow  over  them. 
Epics  of  tragedy,  of  love,  of  the  fight  to  live!  And 
as  one  goes  farther  north,  and  still  farther,  just  so 
do  the  stories  of  things  that  have  happened  change. 

For  the  world  is  changing,  the  sun  is  changing,  and 
the  breeds  of  men  are  changing.  At  the  Landing  in 
July  there  are  seventeen  hours  of  sunlight;  at  Fort 
Chippewyan  there  are  eighteen;  at  Fort  Resolution, 
Fort  Simpson,  and  Fort  Providence  there  are  nineteen ; 
at  the  Great  Bear  twenty-one,  and  at  Fort  McPherson, 
close  to  the  polar  sea,  from  twenty-two  to  twenty- 
three.  And  in  December  there  are  also  these  hours 
of  darkness.  With  light  and  darkness  men  change, 
women  change,  and  life  changes.  And  Pierre  and 
Henri  and  Jacques  meet  them  all,  but  always  they  are 
the  same,  chanting  the  old  songs,  enshrining  the  old 
loves,  dreaming  the  same  dreams,  and  worshiping  al 
ways  the  same  gods.  They  meet  a  thousand  perils 
with  eyes  that  glisten  with  the  love  of  adventure. 

The  thunder  of  rapids  and  the  howlings  of  storm  do 


6  THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

not  frighten  them.  Death  has  no  fear  for  them. 
They  grapple  with  it,  wrestle  joyously  with  it,  and 
are  glorious  when  they  win.  Their  blood  is  red  and 
strong.  Their  hearts  are  big.  Their  souls  chant 
themselves  up  to  the  skies.  Yet  they  are  simple  as 
children,  and  when  they  are  afraid,  it  is  of  things 
which  children  fear.  For  in  those  hearts  of  theirs 
is  superstition — and  also,  perhaps,  royal  blood.  For 
princes  and  the  sons  of  princes  and  the  noblest  aristoc 
racy  of  France  were  the  first  of  the  gentlemen  adven 
turers  who  came  with  ruffles  on  their  sleeves  and 
rapiers  at  their  sides  to  seek*  furs  worth  many  times 
their  weight  in  gold  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
and  of  these  ancient  forebears  Pierre  and  Henri  and 
Jacques,  with  their  Maries  and  Jeannes  and  Jacque- 
lines,  are  the  living  voices  of  today. 

And  these  voices  tell  many  stories.  Sometimes  they 
whisper  them,  as  the  wind  would  whisper,  for  there 
are  stories  weird  and  strange  that  must  be  spoken 
softly.  They  darken  no  printed  pages.  The  trees 
listen  to  them  beside  red  camp-fires  at  night.  Lovers 
tell  them  in  the  glad  sunshine  of  day.  Some  of 
them  are  chanted  in  song.  Some  of  them  come  down 
through  the  generations,  epics  of  the  wilderness,  re 
membered  from  father  to  son.  And  each  year  there 
are  the  new  things  to  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
%from  cabin  to  cabin,  from  the  lower  reaches  of  the 
Mackenzie  to  the  far  end  of  the  world  at  Athabasca 
Landing.  For  the  three  rivers  are  always  makers  of 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN  7 

romance,  of  tragedy,  of  adventure.  The  story  will 
never  be  forgotten  of  how  Follette  and  Ladouceur 
swam  their  mad  race  through  the  Death  Chute  for 
love  of  the  girl  who  waited  at  the  other  end,  or  of 
how  Campbell  O'Doone,  the  red-headed  giant  at  Fort 
Resolution,  fought  the  whole  of  a  great  brigade  in 
his  effort  to  run  away  with  a  scow  captain's  daughter. 

And  the  brigade  loved  O'Doone,  though  it  beat  him, 
for  these  men  of  the  strong  north  love  courage  and 
daring.  The  epic  of  the  lost  scow — how  there  were 
men  who  saw  it  disappear  from  under  their  very  eyes, 
floating  upward  and  afterward  riding  swiftly  away 
in  the  skies — is  told  and  retold  by  strong-faced  men, 
deep  in  whose  eyes  are  the*  smoldering  flames  of  an 
undying  superstition,  and  these  same  men  thrill  as 
they  tell  over  again  the  strange  and  unbelievable  story 
of  Hartshope,  the  aristocratic  Englishman  who  set  off 
into  the  North  in  all  the  glory  of  monocle  and  un 
precedented  luggage,  and  how  he  joined  in  a  tribal 
war,  became  a  chief  of  the  Dog  Ribs,  and  married  a 
dark-eyed,  sleek-haired,  little  Indian  beauty,  who  is 
now  the  mother  of  his  children. 

But  deepest  and  most  thrilling  of  all  the  stories 
they  tell  are  the  stories  of  the  long  arm  of  the  Law 
— that  arm  which  reaches  for  two  thousand  miles 
from  Athabasca  Landing  to  the  polar  sea,  the  arm 
of  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Police. 

And  of  these  it  is  the  story  of  Jim  Kent  we  are 
going  to  tell,  of  Jim  Kent  and  of  Marette,  that  won- 


8  THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

derful  little  goddess  of  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men,  in 
whose  veins  there  must  have  run  the  blood  of  fighting 
men— and  of  ancient  queens.  A  story  of  the  days 
before  the  railroad  caine. 


CHAPTER  I 

T  N  the  mind  of  James  Grenfell  Kent,  sergeant  in  the 
•*•  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  there  remained 
no  shadow  of  a  doubt.  He  knew  that  he  was  dying. 
He  had  implicit  faith  in  Cardigan,  his  surgeon  friend, 
and  Cardigan  had  told  him  that  what  was  left  of  his 
life  would  be  measured  out  in  hours — perhaps  in  min 
utes  or  seconds.  It  was  an  unusual  case.  There  w-ir 
one  chance  in  fifty  that  he  might  live  two  or 
days,  but  there  was  no  chance  at  all  that  he  would  live 
more  than  three.  The  end  might  come  with  any 
breath  he  drew  into  his  lungs.  That  was  the  patho 
logical  history  of  the  thing,  as  far  as  medical  and 
surgical  science  knew  of  cases  similar  to  his  own. 

Personally,  Kent  did  not  feel  like  a  dying  man. 
His  vision  and  his  brain  were  clear.  He  felt  no  pain, 
and  only  at  infrequent  intervals  wras  his  temperature 
above  normal.  His  voice  was  particularly  calm  and 
natural. 

At  first  he  had  smiled  incredulously  when  Cardigan 
broke  the  news.  That  the  bullet  which  a  drunken 
half-breed  had  sent  into  his  chest  two  weeks  before 
had  nicked  the  arch  of  the  aorta,  thus  forming  an 
aneurism,  was  a  statement  by  Cardigan  which  did 
not  sound  especially  wicked  or  convincing  to  him. 


ic         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"Aorta"  and  "aneurism"  held  about  as  much  signifi 
cance  for  him  as  his  perichondrium  or  the  process  of 
his  stylomastoid.  But  Kent  possessed  an  unswerving 
passion  to  grip  at  facts  in  detail,  a  characteristic  that 
had  largely  helped  him  to  earn  the  reputation  of  being 
the  best  man-hunter  in  all  the  northland  service.  So 
he  had  insisted,  and  his  surgeon  friend  had  explained. 

The  aorta,  he  found,  was  the  main  blood-vessel  arch 
ing  over  and  leading  from  the  heart,  and  in  nicking 
it  the  bullet  had  so  weakened  its  outer  wall  that  it 
bulged  out  in  the  form  of  a  sack,  just  as  the  inner 
tube  of  an  automobile  tire  bulges  through  the  outer 
casing  when  there  is  a  blowout. 

"And  when  that  sack  gives  way  inside  you,"  Car 
digan  had  explained,  "you'll  go  like  that !"  He  snapped 
a  forefinger  and  thumb  to  drive  the  fact  home. 

After  that  it  was  merely  a  matter  of  common  sense 
to  believe,  and  now,  sure  that  he  was  about  to  die, 
Kent  had  acted.  He  was  acting  in  the  full  health 
of  his  mind  and  in  extreme  cognizance  of  the  para 
lyzing  shock  he  was  contributing  as  a  final  legacy  to 
the  world  at  large,  or  at  least  to  that  part  of  it  which 
knew  him  or  was  interested.  The  tragedy  of  the 
thing  did  not  oppress  him.  A  thousand  times  in  his 
life  he  had  discovered  that  humor  and  tragedy  were 
very  closely  related,  and  that  there  were  times  when 
only  the  breadth  of  a  hair  separated  the  two.  Many 
times  he  had  seen  a  laugh  change  suddenly  to  tears, 
and  tears  to  laughter. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          11 

The  tableau,  as  it  presented  itself  about  his  bed 
side  now,  amused  him.  Its  humor  was  grim,  but  even 
in  these  last  hours  of  his  life  he  appreciated  it.  He 
had  always  more  or  less  regarded  life  as  a  joke — a 
very  serious  joke,  but  a  joke  for  all  that — a  whimsical 
and  trickful  sort  of  thing  played  by  the  Great  Arbiter 
on  humanity  at  large;  and  this  last  count  in  his  own 
life,  as  it  was  solemnly  and  tragically  ticking  itself 
off,  was  the  greatest  joke  of  all.  The  amazed  faces 
that  stared  at  him,  their  passing  moments  of  disbelief, 
their  repressed  but  at  times  visible. betrayals  of  horror, 
the  steadiness  of  their  eyes,  the  tenseness  of  their  lips 
— all  added  to  what  he  might  have  called,  at  another 
time,  the  dramatic  artistry  of  his  last  great  adventure. 

That  he  was  dying  did  not  chill  him,  or  make  hinf 
afraid,  or  put  a  tremble  into  his  voice.  The  contem 
plation  of  throwing  off  the  mere  habit  of  breathing 
had  never  at  any  stage  of  his  thirty-six  years  of  life 
appalled  him.  Those  years,  because  he  had  spent  a 
sufficient  number  of  them  in  the  raw  places  of  the 
earth,  had  given  him  a  philosophy  and  viewpoint  of 
his  own,  both  of  which  he  kept  unto  himself  without 
effort  to  impress  them  on  other  people.  He  believed 
that  life  itself  was  the  cheapest  thing  on  the  face  of 
all  the  earth.  All  other  things  had  their  limitations. 

There  was  so  much  water  and  so  much  land,  so  many 
mountains  and  so  many  plains,  so  many  square  feet 
to  live  on  and  so  many  square  feet  to  be  buried  in. 
All  things  could  be  measured,  and  stood  up,  and  cata- 


12          THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

logued — except  life  itself.  "Given  time,"  he  would 
say,  "a  single  pair  of  humans  can  populate  all  crea* 
tion."  Therefore,  being  the  cheapest  of  all  things, 
it  was  true  philosophy  that  life  should  be  the  easiest 
of  all  things  to  give  up  when  the  necessity  came. 

Whicli  is  only  another  way  of  emphasizing  that 
Kent  was  not,  and  never  had  been,  afraid  to  die.  But 
it  does  not  say  that  he  treasured  life  a  whit  less  than 
the  man  in  another  room,  who,  a  day  or  so  before, 
had  fought  like  a  lunatic  before  going  under  an  anes 
thetic  for  the  amputation  of  a  bad  finger.  No  man 
had  loved  life  more  than  he.  No  man  had  lived  nearer  it. 

It  had  been  a  passion  with  him.  Full  of  dreams, 
and  always  with  anticipations  ahead,  no  matter  how 
far  short  realizations  fell,  he  was  an  optimist,  a  lover 
of  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  stars,  a  worshiper 
of  the  forests  and  of  the  mountains,  a  man  who  loved 
his  life,  and  who  had  fought  for  it,  and  yet  who  was 
ready — at  the  last — to  yield  it  up  without  a  whimper 
when  the  fates  asked  for  it. 

Bolstered  up  against  his  pillows,  he  did  not  look 
the  part  of  the  fiend  he  was  confessing  himself  to  be 
to  the  people  about  him.  Sickness  had  not  emaciated 
him.  The  bronze  of  his  lean,  clean-cut  face  had  faded 
a  little,  but  the  tanning  of  wind  and  sun  and  camp- 
fire  was  still  there.  His  blue  eyes  were  perhaps  dulled 
somewhat  by  the  nearness  of  death.  One  would  not 
have  judged  him  to  be  thirty-six,  even  though  over 
one  temple  there  was  a  streak  of  gray  in  his  blond 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          13 

hair — a  heritage  from  his  mother,  who  was  dead. 
Looking  at  him,  as  his  lips  quietly  and  calmly  con 
fessed  himself  beyond  the  pale  of  men's  sympathy  or 
forgiveness,  one  would  have  said  that  his  crime  was 
impossible. 

Through  his  window,  as  he  sat  bolstered  up  in  his 
cot,  Kent  could  see  the  slow-moving  shimmer  of  the 
great  Athabasca  River  as  it  moved  on  its  way  toward 
the  Arctic  Ocean.  The  sun  was  shining,  and  he  saw 
the  cool,  thick  masses  of  the  spruce  and  cedar  forests 
beyond,  the  rising  undulations  of  wilderness  ridges 
and  hills,  and  through  that  open  window  he  caught 
the  sweet  scents  that  came  with  a  soft  wind  from  out 
of  the  forests  he  had  loved  for  so  many  years. 

"They've  been  my  best  friends,"  he  had  said  to 
Cardigan,  "and  when  this  nice  little  thing  you're  prom 
ising  happens  to  me,  old  man,  I  want  to  go  with  my 
eyes  on  them." 

So  his  cot  was  close  to  the  window. 

Nearest  to  him  sat  Cardigan.  In  his  face,  more 
than  in  any  of  the  others,  was  disbelief.  Kedsty, 
Inspector  of  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Police, 
in  charge  of  N  Division  during  an  indefinite  leave  of 
absence  of  the  superintendent,  was  paler  even  than 
the  girl  whose  nervous  fingers  were  swiftly  putting 
upon  paper  every  word  that  was  spoken  by  those  in 
the  room.  O'Connor,  staff-sergeant,  was  like  one 
fitruck  dumb.  The  little,  smooth-faced  Catholic  mis- 
sioner  whose  presence  as  a  witness  Kent  had  re- 


14         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

quested,  sat  with  his  thin  fingers  tightly  interlaced, 
silently  placing  this  among  all  the  other  strange  trage 
dies  that  the  wilderness  had  given  up  to  him.  They 
had  all  been  Kent's  friends,  his  intimate  friends,  with 
the  exception  of  the  girl,  whom  Inspector  Kedsty  had 
borrowed  for  the  occasion.  With  the  little  missioner 
he  had  spent  many  an  evening,  exchanging  in  mutual 
confidence  the  strange  and  mysterious  happenings  of 
the  deep  forests,  and  of  the  great  north  beyond  the 
forests.  O'Connor's  friendship  was  a  friendship  bred 
of  the  brotherhood  of  the  trails.  It  was  Kent  and 
O'Connor  who  had  brought  down  the  two  Eskimo 
murderers  from  the  mouth  of  the  Mackenzie,  and  the 
adventure  had  taken  them  fourteen  months.  Kent 
loved  O'Connor,  with  his  red  face,  his  red  hair,  and 
his  big  heart,  and  to  him  the  most  tragic  part  of  it 
all  was  that  he  was  breaking  this  friendship  now. 

But  it  was  Inspector  Kedsty,  commanding  N  Di 
vision,  the  biggest  and  wildest  division  in  all  the  North 
land,  that  roused  in  Kent  an  unusual  emotion,  even 
as  he  waited  for  that  explosion  just  over  his  heart 
which  the  surgeon  had  told  him  might  occur  at  any 
moment.  On  his  death-bed  his  mind  still  worked 
analytically.  And  Kedsty,  since  the  moment  he  had 
entered  the  room,  had  jjuzzled  Kent.  The  commander 
of  N  Division  was  an  unusual  man.  He  was  sixty, 
with  iron-gray  hair,  cold,  almost  colorless  eyes  in 
which  one  would  search  long  for  a  gleam  of  either 
mercy  or  fear,  and  a  nerve  that  Kent  had  never  seen 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEh          15 

• 

even  slightly  disturbed.  It  took  such  a  man,  an  iron 
man,  to  run  N  Division  according  to  law,  for  N  Di 
vision  covered  an  area  of  six  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  square  miles  of  wildest  North  America,  ex 
tending  more  than  two  thousand  miles  north  of  the 
7Oth  parallel  of  latitude,  with  its  farthest  limit  three 
and  one-half  degrees  within  the  Arctic  Circle.  To 
police  this  area  meant  upholding  the  law  in  a  country 
fourteen  times  the  size  of  the  state  of  Ohio.  And 
Kedsty  was  the  man  who  had  performed  this  duty 
as  only  one  other  man  had  ever  succeeded  in  doing  it. 

Yet  Kedsty,  of  the  five  about  Kent,  was  most  dis 
turbed.  His  face  was  ash-gray.  A  number  of  times 
Kent  had  detected  a  broken  note  in  his  voice.  He 
had  seen  his  hands  grip  at  the  arms  of  the  chair  he 
sat  in  until  the  cords  stood  out  en  them  as  if  about 
to  burst.  He  had  never  seen  Kedsty  sweat  until  now. 

Twice  the  Inspector  had  wiped  his  forehead  with  a 
handkerchief.  He  was  no  longer  Minisak- — "The 
Rock" — a  name  given  to  him  by  the  Crees.  The 
armor  that  no  shaft  had  ever  penetrated  seemed  to 
have  dropped  from  him.  He  had  ceased  to  be  Kedsty, 
the  most  dreaded  inquisitor  in  the  service.  He  was 
nervous,  and  Kent  could  see  that  he  was  fighting  to 
repossess  himself. 

"Of  course  you  know  what  this  means  to  the  Ser 
vice,"  he  said  in  a  hard,  low  voice.  "It  means " 

"Disgrace,"  nodded  Kent  "I  know.  It  means  a 
black  spot  on  the  otherwise  bright  escutcheon  of  N 


16         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Division.  But  it  can't  be  helped.  I  killed  John  Bark- 
ley.  The  man  you've  got  in  the  guard-house,  con 
demned  to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  is  dead,  is 
innocent.  I  understand.  It  won't  be  nice  for  the: 
Service  to  let  it  be  known  that  a  sergeant  in  His 
Majesty's  Royal  Mounted  is  an  ordinary  murderer, 
but " 

"Not  an  ordinary  murderer,"  interrupted  Kedsty. 
"As  you  have  described  it,  the  crime  was  deliberate — • 
horrible  and  inexcusable  to  its  last  detail.  You  were 
not  moved  by  a  sudden  passion.  You  tortured  your 
victim.  It  is  inconceivable!" 

"And  yet  true,"  said  Kent. 

He  was  looking  at  the  stenographer's  slim  fingers 
as  they  put  down  his  words  and  Kedsty's.  A  bit  of 
sunshine  touched  her  bowed  head,  and  he  observed 
the  red  lights  in  her  hair.  His  eyes  swept  to  O'Con 
nor,  and  in  that  moment  the  commander  of  N  Division 
bent  over  him,  so  close  that  his  face  almost  touched 
Kent's,  and  he  whispered,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  no 
one  of  the  other  four  could  hear, 

"Kent— you  Her 

"No,  it  is  true,"  replied  Kent. 

Kedsty  drew  back,  again  wiping  the  moisture  from 
his  forehead. 

"I  killed  Barkley,  and  I  killed  him  as  I  planned  that 
he  should  die,"  Kent  went  on.  "It  was  my  desire 
that  he  should  suffer.  The  one  thing  which  I  shall 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          17 
not  tell  you  is  why  I  killed  him.    But  it  was  a  sufficient 


reason." 


He  saw  the  shuddering  tremor  that  swept  through 
the  shoulders  of  the  girl  who  was  putting  down  the 
condemning  notes. 

"And  you  refuse  to  confess  your  motive?" 

"Absolutely — except  that  he  had  wronged  me  in  a 
way  that  deserved  death." 

"And  you  make  this  confession  knowing  that  you 
are  about  to  die?" 

The  flicker  of  a  smile  passed  over  Kent's  lips.  He 
looked  at  O'Connor  and  for  an  instant  saw  in  O'Con 
nor's  eyes  a  flash  of  their  old  comradeship. 

"Yes.  Dr.  Cardigan  has  told  me.  Otherwise  I 
should  have  let  the  man  in  the  guard-house  hang.  It's 
simply  that  this  accursed  bullet  has  spoiled  my  luck — 
and  saved  him!" 

Kedsty  spoke  to  the  girl.  For  half  an  hour  she 
read  her  notes,  and  after  that  Kent  wrote  his  name 
on  the  last  page.  Then  Kedsty  rose  from  his  chair. 

"We  have  finished,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

They  trailed  out,  the  girl  hurrying  through  the 
door  first  in  her  desire  to  free  herself  of  an  ordeal 
that  had  strained  every  nerve  in  her  body.  The  com 
mander  of  N  Division  was  last  to  go.  Cardigan  hesi 
tated,  as  if  to  remain,  but  Kedsty  motioned  him  on. 
It  was  Kedsty  who  closed  the  door,  and  as  he  closed 
it  he  looked  back,  and  for  a  flash  Kent  met  his  eyes 
squarely.  In  that  moment  he  received  an  impression 


iS         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

which  he  had  not  caught  while  the  Inspector  was  in 
the  room.  It  was  like  an  electrical  shock  in  its  un 
expectedness,  and  Kedsty  must  have  seen  the  effect 
of  it  in  his  face,  for  he  moved  back  quickly  and  closed 
the  door.  In  that  instant  Kent  had  seen  in  Kedsty's 
eyes  and  face  a  look  that  was  not  only  of  horror,  but 
what  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  another  man  he  would 
have  sworn  was  fear. 

It  was  a  gruesome  moment  in  which  to  smile,  but 
Kent  smiled.  The  shock  was  over.  By  the  rules  of 
the  Criminal  Code  he  knew  that  Kedsty  even  now 
was  instructing  Staff-Sergeant  O'Connor  to  detail  an 
officer  to  guard  his  door.  The  fact  that  he  was  ready 
to  pop  off  at  any  moment  would  make  no  difference 
in  the  regulations  of  the  law.  And  Kedsty  was  a 
stickler  for  the  law  as  it  was  written.  Through  the 
closed  door  he  heard  voices  indistinctly.  Then  there 
were  footsteps,  dying  away.  He  could  hear  the  heavy 
thump,  thump  of  O'Connor's  big  feet.  O'Connor  had 
always  walked  like  that,  even  on  the  trail. 

Softly  then  the  door  reopened,  and  Father  Layonne, 
the  little  missioner,  came  in.  Kent  knew  that  this 
would  be  so,  for  Father  Layonne  knew  neither  code 
nor  creed  that  did  not  reach  all  the  hearts  of  the 
wilderness.  He  came  back,  and  sat  down  close  to 
Kent,  and  took  one  of  his  hands  and  held  it  closely  in 
both  of  his  own.  They  were  not  the  soft,  smooth 
hands  of  the  priestly  hierarchy,  but  were  hard  with 
the  callosity  of  toil,  yet  gentle  with  the  gentleness  of 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         19 

a  great  sympathy.  He  had  loved  Kent  yesterday, 
when  Kent  had  stood  clean  in  the  eyes  of  both  God 
and  men,  and  he  still  loved  him  today,  when  his  soul 
was  stained  with  a  thing  that  must  be  washed  away 
with  his  own  life. 

"I'm  sorry,  lad,"  he  said.     "I'm  sorry." 

Something  rose  up  in  Kent's  throat  that  was  not 
the  blood  he  had  been  wiping  away  since  morning. 
His  fingers  returned  the  pressure  of  the  little  mis- 
sioner's  hands.  Then  he  pointed  out  through  the 
window  to  the  panorama  of  shimmering  river  and 
green  forests. 

"It  is  hard  to  say  good-by  to  all  that,  Father,"  he 
said.  "But,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  rather  not  talk 
about  it.  I'm  not  afraid  of  it.  And  why  be  unhappy 
because  one  has  only  a  little  while  to  live?  Looking 
back  over  your  life,  does  it  seem  so  very  long  ago 
that  you  were  a  boy,  a  small  boy?" 

"The  time  has  gone  swiftly,  very  swiftly." 

"It  seems  only  yesterday — or  so?" 

"Yes,  only  yesterday — or  so." 

Kent's  face  lit  up  with  the  whimsical  smile  that 
long  ago  had  reached  the  little  missioner's  heart. 
"Well,  that's  the  way  I'm  looking  at  it,  Father.  There 
is  only  a  yesterday,  a  today,  and  a  tomorrow  in  the 
longest  of  our  lives.  Looking  back  from  seventy 
years  isn't  much  different  from  looking  back  from 
thirty-six  when  you're  looking  back  and  not  ahead. 


20         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Do  you  think  what  I  have  just  said  will  free  Sandy 
McT  rigger?" 

"There  is  no  doubt.  Your  statements  have  been 
accepted  as  a  death-bed  confession." 

The  little  missioner,  instead  of  Kent,  was  betraying 
a  bit  of  nervousness. 

"There  are  matters,  my  son — some  few  matters — 
which  you  will  want  attended  to.  Shall  we  not  talk 
about  them?" 

"You  mean " 

"Your  people,  first.  I  remember  that  once  you  told 
me  there  was  no  one.  But  surely  there  is  some  one 
somewhere." 

Kent  shook  his  head.  "There  is  no  one  now.  For 
ten  years  those  forests  out  there  have  been  father, 
mother,  and  home  to  me." 

"But  there  must  be  personal  affairs,  affairs  which 
you  would  like  to  entrust,  perhaps,  to  me?" 

Kent's  face  brightened,  and  for  an  instant  a  flash 
of  humor  leaped  into  his  eyes.  "It  is  funny,"  he 
chuckled.  "Since  you  remind  me  of  it,  Father,  it  is 
quite  in  form  to  make  my  will.  I've  bought  a  few 
little  pieces  of  land  here.  Now  that  the  railroad  has 
almost  reached  us  from  Edmonton,  they've  jumped 
up  from  the  seven  or  eight  hundred  dollars  I  gave  for 
them  to  about  ten  thousand.  I  want  you  to  sell  the 
lots  and  use  the  money  in  your  work.  Put  as  much 
of  it  on  the  Indians  as  you  can.  They've  always  been 
good  brothers  to  me.  And  I  wouldn't  waste  much 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         21 

time  in  getting  my  signature  on  some  sort  of  paper 
to  that  effect." 

Father  Layonne's  eyes  shone  softly.  "God  will 
bless  you  for  that,  Jimmy,"  he  said,  using  the  intimate 
name  by  which  he  had  known  him.  "And  I  think  He 
is  going  to  pardon  you  for  something  else,  if  you  have 
the  courage  to  ask  Him." 

"I  am  pardoned,"  replied  Kent,  looking  out  through 
the  window.  "I  feel  it.  I  know  it,  Father." 

In  his  soul  the  little  missioner  was  praying.  He 
knew  that  Kent's  religion  was  not  his  religion,  and  he 
did  not  press  the  service  which  he  would  otherwise 
have  rendered.  After  a  moment  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  it  was  the  old  Kent  who  looked  up  into  his  face, 
the  clean- faced,  gray-eyed,  unafraid  Kent,  smiling  in 
the  old  way. 

"I  have  one  big  favor  to  ask  of  you,  Father,"  he 
said.  "If  I've  got  a  day  to  live,  I  don't  want  every 
one  forcing  the  fact  on  me  that  I'm  dying.  If  I've 
any  friends  left,  I  want  them  to  come  in  and  see  me, 
and  talk,  and  crack  jokes.  I  want  to  smoke  my  pipe. 
I'll  appreciate  a  box  of  cigars  if  you'll  send  'em  up. 
Cardigan  can't  object  now.  Will  you  arrange  these 
things  for  me  ?  They'll  listen  to  you— and  please  shove 
my  cot  a  little  nearer  the  window  before  you  go." 

Father  Layonne  performed  the  service  in  silence. 
Then  at  last  the  yearning  overcame  him  to  have  the 
soul  speak  out,  that  his  God  might  be  more  merciful, 


22         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

and  he  said:  "My  boy,  you  are  sorry?  You  repent 
that  you  killed  John  Barkley?" 

"No,  I'm  not  sorry.  It  had  to  be  done.  And  please 
don't  forget  the  cigars,  will  you,  Father?" 

"No,  I  won't  forget,"  said  the  little  missioner,  and 
turned  away.  t 

As  the  door  opened  and  closed  behind  him,  the  flash 
of  humor  leaped  into  Kent's  eyes  again,  and  he 
cnuckled  even  as  he  wiped  another  of  the  telltale  stains 
of  blood  from  his  lips.  He  had  played  the  game.  And 
the  funny  part  about  it  was  that  no  one  in  all  the 
world  would  ever  know,  except  himself — and  perhaps 
one  other. 


/ 


CHAPTER  II 

/^\UTSIDE  Kent's  window  was  Spring,  the  glorious 
^^  Spring  of  the  Northland,  and  in  spite  of  the 
death-grip  that  was  tightening  in  his  chest  he  drank 
it  in  deeply  and  leaned  over  so  that  his  eyes  traveled 
over  wide  spaces  of  the  world  that  had  been  his  only 
a  short  time  before. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  suggested  this  knoll 
that  overlooked  both  settlement  and  river  as  the  site 
for  the  building  which  Dr.  Cardigan  called  his  hos 
pital.  It  was  a  structure  rough  and  unadorned,  un- 
painted,  and  sweetly  smelling  with  the  aroma  of  the 
spruce  trees  from  the  heart  of  which  its  unplaned 
lumber  was  cut.  The  breath  of  it  was  a  thing  to 
bring  cheer  and  hope.  Its  silvery  walls,  in  places 
golden  and  brown  with  pitch  and  freckled  with  knots, 
spoke  joyously  of  life  that  would  not  die,  and  the 
woodpeckers  came  and  hammered  on  it  as  though  it 
were  still  a  part  of  the  forest,  and  red  squirrels  chat 
tered  on  the  roof  and  scampered  about  in  play  with 
a  soft  patter  of  feet. 

"It's  a  pretty  poor  specimen  of  man  that  would 
die  up  here  with  all  that  under  his  eyes,"  Kent  had 
said  a  year  before,  when  he  and  Cardigan  had  picked 

23 


24         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

out  the  site.  "If  he  died  looking  at  that,  why,  he 
just  simply  ought  to  die,  Cardigan/'  he  had  laughed. 

And  now  he  was  that  poor  specimen,  looking  out 
on  the  glory  of  the  world ! 

His  vision  took  in  the  South  and  a  part  of  the  East 
and  West,  and  in  all  those  directions  there  was  no  end 
of  the  forest.  It  was  like  a  vast,  many-colored  sea 
with  uneven  billows  rising  and  falling  until  the  blue 
sky  came  down  to  meet  them  many  miles  away.  More 
than  once  his  heart  ached  at  the  thought  of  the  two 
thin  ribs  of  steel  creeping  up  foot  by  foot  and  mile 
by  mile  from  Edmonton,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
away.  It  was,  to  him,  a  desecration,  a  crime  against 
Nature,  the  murder  of  his  beloved  wilderness.  For 
in  his  soul  that  wilderness  had  grown  to  be  more  than 
a  thing  of  spruce  and  cedar  and  balsam,  of  poplar 
and  birch;  more  than  a  great,  unused  world,  of  river 
and  lake  and  swamp.  It  was  an  individual,  a  thing.  His 
love  for  it  was  greater  than  his  love  for  man.  It 
was  his  inarticulate  God.  It  held  him  as  no  religion 
in  the  world  could  have  held  him,  and  deeper  and 
deeper  it  had  drawn  him  into  the  soul  of  itself,  de 
livering  up  to  him  one  by  one  its  guarded  secrets  and 
its  mysteries,  opening  for  him  page  by  page  the  book 
that  was  the  greatest  of  all  books.  And  it  was  the 
wonder  of  it  now,  the  fact  that  it  was  near  him,  about 
him,  embracing  him,  glowing  for  him  in  the  sunshine, 
whispering  to  him  in  the  soft  breath  of  the  air,  nod 
ding  and  talking  to  him  from  the  crest  of  every  ridge, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         25 

that  gave  to  him  a  strange  happiness  even  in  these 
hours  when  he  knew  that  he  was  dying. 

And  then  his  eyes  fell  nearer  to  the  settlement  which 
nestled  along  the  edge  of  the  shining  river  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away.  That,  too,  had  been  the  wilderness, 
in  the  days  before  the  railroad  came.  The  poison  of 
speculation  was  stirring,  but  it  had  not  yet  destroyed. 
Athabasca  Landing  was  still  the  door  that  opened  and 
closed  on  the  great  North.  Its  buildings  were  scat 
tered  and  few,  and  built  of  logs  and  rough  lumber. 
Even  now  he  could  hear  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  dis-' 
tant  sawmill  that  was  lazily  turning  out  its  grist.  Not 
far  away  the  wind-worn  flag  of  the  British  Empire 
was  floating  ever  a  Hudson  Bay  Company's  post  that 
had  bartered  in  the  trades  of  the  North  for  more 
than  a  hundred  years.  Through  that  hundred  years 
Athabasca  Landing  had  pulsed  with  the  heart-beats 
of  strong  men  bred  to  the  wilderness.  Through  it, 
working  its  way  by  river  and  dog  sledge  from 
the  South,  had  gone  the  precious  freight  for  which 
the  farther  North  gave  in  exchange  its  still  more  pre 
cious  furs.  And  today,  as  Kent  looked  down  upon 
it,  he  saw  that  same  activity  as  it  had  existed  through 
the  years  of  a  century.  A  brigade  of  scows,  laden  to 
their  gunwales,  was  just  sweeping  out  into  the  river 
and  into  its  current.  Kent  had  watched  the  loading 
of  them;  now  he  saw  them  drifting  lazily  out  from 
the  shore,  their  long  sweeps  glinting  in  the  sun,  their 
crews  singing  wildly  and  fiercely  their  beloved 


26         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

son  des  Voyageurs  as  their  faces  turned  to  the  adven 
ture  of  the  North. 

In  Kent's  throat  rose  a  thing  which  he  tried  to 
choke  back,  but  which  broke  from  his  lips  in  a  low 
cry,  almost  a  sob.  He  heard  the  distant  singing,  wild 
and  free  as  the  forests  themselves,  and  he  wanted  to 
lean  out  of  his  window  and  shout  a  last  good-by.  For 
the  brigade — a  Company  brigade,  the  brigade  that  had 
chanted  its  songs  up  and  down  the  water  reaches  of 
the  land  for  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
— was  starting  north.  And  he  knew  where  it  was 
going — north,  and  still  farther  north ;  a  hundred  miles, 
five  hundred,  a  thousand — and  then  another  thousand 
before  the  last  of  the  scows  unburdened  itself  of  its 
precious  freight.  For  the  lean  and  brown-visaged 
men  who  went  with  them  there  would  be  many  months 
of  clean  living  and  joyous  thrill  under  the  open  skies. 
Overwhelmed  by  the  yearning  that  swept  over  him, 
Kent  leaned  back  against  his  pillows  and  covered  his 
eyes. 

In  those  moments  his  brain  painted  for  him  swiftly 
and  vividly  the  things  he  was  losing.  Tomorrow  or 
next  day  he  would  be  dead,  and  the  river  brigade 
would  still  be  sweeping  on — on  into  the  Grand  Rapids 
of  the  Athabasca,  fighting  the  Death  Chute,  'hazard 
ing  valiantly  the  rocks  and  rapids  of  the  Grand  Cas 
cade,  the  whirlpools  of  the  Devil's  Mouth,  the  thunder 
ing  roar  and  boiling  dragon  teeth  of  the  Black  Run 
• — on  to  the  end  of  the  Athabasca,  to  the  Slave,  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         27 

into  the  Mackenzie,  until  the  last  rock-blunted  nose 
of  the  outfit  drank  the  tide-water  of  the  Arctic  Ocearu 
And  he,  James  Kent,  would  be  dead! 

He  uncovered  his  eyes,  and  there  was  a  wan  smile 
on  his  lips  as  he  looked  forth  once  more.  There  were 
sixteen  scows  in  the  brigade,  and  the  biggest,  he  knew, 
was  captained  by  Pierre  Rossand.  He  could  fancy 
Pierre's  big  red  throat  swelling  in  mighty  song,  for 
Pierre's  wife  was  waiting  for  him  a  thousand  miles 
away.  The  scows  were  caught  steadily  now  in  the 
•grip  of  the  river,  and  it  seemed  to  Kent,  as  he  watched 
them  go,  that  they  were  the  last  fugitives  fleeing 
from  the  encroaching  monsters  of  steel.  Uncon 
scious  of  the  act,  he  reached  out  his  arms,  and  his 
soul  cried  out  its  farewell,  even  though  his  lips  were 
silent. 

He  was  glad  when  they  were  gone  and  when  thfe 
voices  of  the  chanting  oarsmen  were  lost  in  the  dis 
tance.  Again  he  listened  to  the  lazy  hum  of  the  saw 
mill,  and  over  his  head  he  heard  the  velvety  run  of  a 
red  squirrel  and  then  its  reckless  chattering.  The  for 
ests  came  back  to  him.  Across  his  cot  fell  a  patch 
of  golden  sunlight.  A  stronger  breath  of  air  came 
laden  with  the  perfume  of  balsam  and  cedar  through 
his  window,  and  when  the  door  opened  and  Cardigan 
entered,  he  found  the  old  Kent  facing  him. 

There  was  no  change  in  Cardigan's  voice  or  manner 
as  he  greeted  him.  But  there  was  a  tenseness  in  his 
face  which  he  could  not  conceal.  He  had  brought  in 


kB         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Kent's  pipe  and  tobacco.  These  he  laid  on  a  table 
until  he  had  placed  his  head  close  to  Kent's  heart, 
listening  to  what  he  called  the  bruit — the  rushing  of 
blood  through  the  aneurismal  sac. 

"Seems  to  me  that  I  can  hear  it  myself  now  and 
then,"  said  Kent.  "Worse,  isn't  it?" 

Cardigan  nodded.  "Smoking  may  hurry  it  up  a 
bit,"  he  said.  "Still,  if  you  want  to " 

Kent  held  out  his  hand  for  the  pipe  and  tobacco. 
"It's  worth  it.  Thanks,  old  man." 

Kent  loaded  the  pipe,  and  Cardigan  lighted  a  match. 
For  the  first  time  in  two  weeks  a  cloud  of  smoke  is^ 
sued  from  between  Kent's  lips. 

"The  brigade  is  starting  north,"  he  said. 

"Mostly  Mackenzie  River  freight/'  replied  Cardi 
gan.  "^Jpng  run." 

"The  finest  in  all  the  North.  Three  years  ago 
O'Connor  and  I  made  it  with  the  Follette  outfit.  Re 
member  Follette — and  Ladouceur?  They  both  loved 
the  same  girl,  and  being  good  friends  they  decided 
to  settle  the  matter  by  a  swim  through  the  Death 
Chute.  The  man  who  came  through  first  was  to  have 
her.  Gawd,  Cardigan,  what  funny  things  happen! 
Follette  came  out  first,  but  he  was  dead.  He'd  brained 
himself  on  a  rock.  And  to  this  day  Ladouceur  hasn't 
married  the  girl,  because  he  says  Follette  beat  him; 
and  that  Follette's  something-or-other  would  haunt 
him  if  he  didn't  play  fair.  It's  a  queer " 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         29 

He  stopped  and  listened.  In  the  hall  was  the  ap 
proaching  tread  of  unmistakable  feet. 

"O'Connor,"  he  said. 

Cardigan  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it  as  O'Con 
nor  was  about  to  knock.  When  the  door  closed  again, 
the  staff-sergeant  was  in  the  room  alone  with  Kent. 
In  one  of  his  big  hands  he  clutched  a  box  of  cigars, 
and  in  the  other  he  held  a  bunch  of  vividly  red  fire- 
flowers. 

"Father  Layonne  shoved  these  into  my  hands  as  I 
was  coming  up,"  he  explained,  dropping  them  on  the 
table.  "And  I — well — I'm  breaking  regulations  to 
come  up  an*  tell  you  something,  Jimmy.  I  never  called 
you  a  liar  in  my  life,  but  I'm  calling  you  one  now!" 

He  was  gripping  Kent's  hands  in  the  fierce  clasp 
of  a  friendship  that  nothing  could  kill.  Kent  winced, 
but  the  pain  of  it  was  joy.  He  had  feared  that  O'Con 
nor,  like  Kedsty,  must  of  necessity  turn  against  him. 
Then  he  noticed  something  unusual  in  O'Connor's 
face  and  eyes.  The  staff-sergeant  was  not  easily  ex 
cited,  yet  he  was  visibly  disturbed  now. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  others  saw,  when  you  were 
making  that  confession,  Kent.  Mebby  my  eyesight 
was  better  because  I  spent  a  year  and  a  half  with  you 
on  the  trail.  You  were  lying.  What's  your  game, 
old  man?" 

Kent  groaned.  "Have  I  got  to  go  all  over  it  again  ?" 
he  appealed. 

O'Connor  began  thumping  back  and  forth  over  the 


30         THE  VALLEY,  OF  SILENT  MEN 

floor.  Kent  had  seen  him  that  way  sometimes  in 
camp  when  there  were  perplexing  problems  ahead  of 
them. 

"You  didn't  kill  John  Barkley,"  he  insisted.  "I 
don't  believe  you  did,  and  Inspector  Kedsty  doesn't 
believe  it — yet  the  mighty  queer  part  of  it  is " 

"What?" 

"That  Kedsty  is  acting  on  your  confession  in  a 
big  hurry.  I  don't  believe  it's  according  to  Hoyle, 
as  the  regulations  are  written.  But  he's  doing  it.  And 
J  want  to  know — it's  the  biggest  thing  I  ever  wanted 
to  know — did  you  kill  Barkley?" 

"O'Connor,  if  you  don't  believe  a  dying  fan's 
word — you  haven't  much  respect  for  death,  have 
you  ?" 

"That's  the  theory  on  which  the  law  works,  but 
sometimes  it  ain't  human.  Confound  it,  man,  did 
your 

"Yes." 

O'Connor  sat  down  and  with  his  finger-nails  pried 
open  the  box  of  cigars.  "Mind  if  I  smoke  with  you?" 
he  asked.  "I  need  it.  I'm  shot  up  with  unexpected 
things  this  morning.  Do  you  care  if  I  ask  you  about 
the  girl?" 

"The  girl !"  exclaimed  Kent.  He  sat  up  straighter, 
staring  at  O'Connor. 

The  staff-sergeant's  eyes  were  on  him  with  ques 
tioning  steadiness.  "I  see — you  don't  know  her,"  he 
said,  lighting  his  cigar.  "Neither  do  I.  Never  saw 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         31 

her  before.  That's  why  I  am  wondering  about  In 
spector  Kedsty.  I  tell  you,  it's  queer.  He  didn't  be 
lieve  you  this  morning,  yet  he  was  all  shot  up.  He 
wanted  me  to  go  with  him  to  his  house.  The  cords 
stood  out  on  his  neck  like  that — like  my  little  finger. 

''Then  suddenly  he  changed  his  mind  and  said  we'd 
go  to  the  office.  That  took  us  along  the  road  that 
runs  through  the  poplar  grove.  It  happened  there. 
I'm  not  much  of  a  girl's  man,  Kent,  and  I'd  be  a  fool 
to  try  to  tell  you  what  she  looked  like.  But  there  she 
was,  standing  in  the  path  not  ten  feet  ahead  of  us, 
and  she  stopped  me  in  my  tracks  as  quick  as  though 
she'd  sent  a  shot  into  me.  And  she  stopped  Kedsty, 
too.  I  heard  him  give  a  sort  of  grunt — a  funny  sound, 
as  though  some  one  had  hit  him.  I  don't  believe 
I  could  tell  whether  she  had  a  dress  on  or  not,  for 
I  never  saw  anything  like  her  face,  and  her  eyes, 
and  her  hair,  and  I  stared  at  them  like  a  thunder 
struck  fool.  She  didn't  seem  to  notice  me  any  more 
than  if  I'd  been  thin  air,  a  ghost  she  couldn't  see. 

"She  looked  straight  at  Kedsty,  and  she  kept  looking 
at  him — and  then  she  passed  us.  Never  said  a  word, 
mind  you.  She  came  so  near  I  could  have  touched 
her  with  my  hand,  and  not  until  she  "was  that  close 
did  she  take  her  eyes  from  Kedsty  and  look  at  me. 
And  when  she'd  passed  I  thought  what  a  couple  of 
cursed  idiots  we  were,  standing  there  paralyzed,  as 
if  we'd  never  seen  a  beautiful  girl  before  in  our  lives. 


52         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

I  went  to  remark  that  much  to  the  Old  Man 
when " 

O'Connor  bit  his  cigar  half  in  two  as  he  leaned 
nearer  to  the  cot. 

"Kent,  I  swear  that  Kedsty  was  as  white  as  chalk 
when  I  looked  at  him !  There  wasn't  a  drop  of  blood 
left  in  his  face,  and  he  was  staring  straight  ahead,  as 
though  the  girl  still  stood  there,  and  he  gave  another 
of  those  grunts — it  wasn't  a  laugh — as  if  something 
was  choking  him.  And  then  he  said : 

"  'Sergeant,  I've  forgotten  something  important.  I 
must  go  back  to  see  Dr.  Cardigan.  You  have  my 
authority  to  give  McTrigger  his  liberty  at  once !' ' 

O'Connor  paused,  as  if  expecting  some  expression 
of  disbelief  from  Kent.  When  none  came,  he  de 
manded, 

"Was  that  according  to  the  Criminal  Code?  Was 
it,  Kent?" 

"Not  exactly.  But,  coming  from  the  S.  O.  D.,  it 
was  law/' 

"And  I  obeyed  it,"  grunted  the  staff-sergeant.  "And 
if  you  could  have  seen  McTrigger!  When  I  told  him 
he  was  free,  and  unlocked  his  cell,  he  came  out  of 
it  gropingly,  like  a  blind  man.  And  he  would  go  no 
farther  than  the  Inspector's  office.  He  said  he  would 
wait  there  for  him." 

"And  Kedsty?" 

O'Connor  jumped  from  his  chair  and  began  thump 
ing  back  and  forth  across  the  room  again.  "Fol- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         33 

lowed  the  girl/'  he  exploded.  "He  couldn't  have  done 
anything  else.  He  lied  to  me  about  Cardigan.  There 
wouldn't  be  anything  mysterious  about  it  if  he  wasn't 
sixty  and  she  less  than  twenty.  She  was  pretty 
enough  I  But  it  wasn't  her  beauty  that  made  him 
turn  white  there  in  the  path.  Not  on  your  life  it 
wasn't  1  I  tell  you  he  aged  ten  years  in  as  many  sec 
onds.  There  was  something  in  that  girl's  eyes  more 
terrifying  to  him  than  a  leveled  gun,  and  after  he'd 
looked  into  them,  his  first  thought  was  of  McTrigger, 
the  man  you're  saving  from  the  hangman.  It's  queer, 
Kent.  The  whole  business  is  queer.  And  the  queerest 
of  it  all  is  your  confession." 

"Yes,  it's  all  very  funny,"  agreed  Kent.  "That's 
what  I've  been  telling  myself  right  along,  old  man. 
You  see,  a  little  thing  like  a  bullet  changed  it  all. 
For  if  the  bullet  hadn't  got  me,  I  assure  you  I 
wouldn't  have  given  Kedsty  that  confession,  and  an 
innocent  man  would  have  been  hanged.  As  it  is, 
Kedsty  is  shocked,  demoralized.  I'm  the  first  man 
to  soil  the  honor  of  the  finest  Service  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  I'm  in  Kedsty's  division.  Quite  natural 
that  he  should  be  upset.  And  as  for  the  girl 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  tried  to  laugh,  "Per 
haps  she  came  in  this  morning  with  one  of  the 
up-river  scows  and  was  merely  taking  a  little  con 
stitutional,"  he  suggested.  "Didn't  you  ever  notice, 
O'Connor,  that  in  a  certain  light  under  poplar  trees 
one's  face  is  sometimes  ghastly?" 


34         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"Yes,  I've  noticed  it,  when  the  trees  are  in  full 
leaf,  but  not  when  they're  just  opening,  Jimmy.  It 
was  the  girl.  Her  eyes  shattered  every  nerve  in  him. 
And  his  first  words  were  an  order  for  me  to  free  Mc- 
Trigger,  coupled  with  the  lie  that  he  was  coming 
back  to  see  Cardigan.  And  if  you  could  have  seen 
her  eyes  when  she  turned  them  on  me!  They  were 
blue — blue  as  violets — but  shooting  fire.  I  could 
imagine  black  eyes  like  that,  but  not  blue  ones.  Kedsty 
simply  wilted  in  their  blaze.  And  there  was  a  reason 
— I  know  it — a  reason  that  sent  his  mind  like  lightning 
to  the  man  in  the  cell !" 

"Now,  that  you  leave  me  out  of  it,  the  thing  be 
gins  to  get  interesting,"  said  Kent.  "It's  a  matter 
of  the  relationship  of  this  blonde  girl  and " 

"She  isn't  blonde — and  I'm  not  leaving  you  out  of 
it,"  interrupted  O'Connor.  "I  never  saw  anything  so 
black  in  my  life  as  her  hair.  It  was  magnificent.  If 
you  saw  that  girl  once,  you  would  never  forget  her 
again  as  long  as  you  lived.  She  has  never  been  in 
Athabasca  Landing  before,  or  anywhere  near  here. 
If  she  had,  we  surely  would  have  heard  about  her. 
She  came  for  a  purpose,  and  I  believe  that  purpose, 
was  accomplished  when  Kedsty  gave  me  the  order  to. 
free  McTrigger." 

"That's  possible,  and  probable,"  agreed  Kent.  "I 
always  said  you  were  the  best  clue-analyst  in  the  force, 
Bucky.  But  I  don't  see  where  I  come  in." 

O'Connor  smiled  grimly.     "You  don't?     Well,  I 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         35 

may  be  both  blind  and  a  fool,  and  perhaps  a  lKt1e  ex 
cited.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  from  the  moment 
Inspector  Kedsty  laid  his  eyes  on  that  girl  he  was  a 
little  too  anxious  to  let  McTrigger  go  and  hang  you 
in  his  place.  A  little  too  anxious,  Kent." 

The  irony  of  the  thing  brought  a  hard  smile  to 
Kent's  lips  as  he  nodded  for  the  cigars.  "I'll  try 
one  of  these  on  top  of  the  pipe,"  he  said,  nipping 
off  the  end  of  the  cigar  with  his  teeth.  "And  you 
forget  that  I'm  not  going  to  hang,  Bucky.  Cardigan 
has  given  me  until  tomorrow  night.  Perhaps  until 
the  next  day.  Did  you  see  Rossand's  fleet  leaving  for 
up  north  ?  It  made  me  think  of  three  years  ago !" 

O'Connor  was  gripping  his  hand  again.  The  cold 
ness  of  it  sent  a  chill  into  the  staff -sergeant's  heart. 
He  rose  and  looked  through  the  upper  part  of  the 
window,  so  that  the  twitching  in  his  throat  was  hidden 
from  Kent.  Then  he  went  to  the  door. 

"I'll  see  you  again  tomorrow/'  he  said.  "And  if 
I  find  out  anything  more  about  the  girl,  I'll  report." 

He  tried  to  laugh,  but  there  was  a  tremble  in  his 
voice,  a  break  in  the  humor  he  attempted  to  force. 

Kent  listened  to  the  tramp  of  his  heavy  feet  as 
they  went  down  the  hall. 


\ 


CHAPTER  III 

A  GAIN  the  world  came  back  to  Kent,  the  world  that 
•*  *•  lay  just  beyond  his  open  window.  But  scarcely 
had  O'Connor  gone  when  it  began  to  change,  and  in 
spite  of  his  determination  to  keep  hold  of  his  nerve 
Kent  felt  creeping  up  with  that  change  a  thing  that  was 
oppressive  and  smothering.  Swiftly  the  distant  billow- 
ings  of  the  forests  were  changing  their  tones  and 
colors  under  the  darkening  approach  of  storm.  The 
laughter  of  the  hills  and  ridges  went  out.  The  shim 
mer  of  spruce  and  cedar  and  balsam  turned  to  a 
somber  black.  The  flashing  gold  and  silver  of  birch 
and  poplar  dissolved  into  a  ghostly  and  unanimated 
gray  that  was  almost  invisible.  A  deepening  and 
somber  gloom  spread  itself  like  a  veil  over  the  river 
that  only  a  short  time  before  had  reflected  the  glory 
of  the  sun  in  the  faces  of  dark-visaged  men  of  the 
Company  brigade.  And  with  the  gloom  came  steadily 
nearer  a  low  rumbling  of  thunder. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  mental  excitement  of 
his  confession  Kent  felt  upon  him  an  appalling  loneli 
ness.  He  still  was  not  afraid  of  death,  but  a  part  of 
his  philosophy  was  gone.  It  was,  after  all,  a  difficult 
thing  to  die  alone.  He  felt  that  the  pressure  in  his 
chest  was  perceptibly  greater  than  it  had  been  an 

36 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         37 

hour  or  two  before,  and  the  thought  grew  upon  him 
that  it  would  be  a  terrible  thing  for  the  "explosion" 
to  come  when  the  sun  was  not  shining.  He  wanted 
O'Connor  back  again.  He  had  the  desire  to  call  out 
for  Cardigan.  He  would  have  welcomed  Father  La- 
yonne  with  a  glad  cry.  Yet  more  than  all  else  would 
he  have  had  at  his  side  in  these  moments  of  distress 
a  woman.  For  the  storm,  as  it  massed  heavier  and 
nearer,  filling  the  earth  with  its  desolation,  bridged 
vast  spaces  for  him,  and  he  found  himself  suddenly 
face  to  face  with  the  might-have-beens  of  yesterday. 

He  saw,  as  he  had  never  guessed  before,  the  immeas 
urable  gulf  between  helplessness  and  the  wild,  brute 
freedom  of  man,  and  his  soul  cried  out — not  for  ad 
venture,  not  for  the  savage  strength  of  life — but  for 
the  presence  of  a  creature  frailer  than  himself,  yet 
in  the  gentle  touch  of  whose  hand  lay  the  might  of  all 
humanity. 

He  struggled  with  himself.  He  remembered  that 
Dr.  Cardigan  had  told  him  there  would  be  moments 
of  deep  depression,  and  he  tried  to  fight  himself  out 
of  the  grip  of  this  that  was  on  him.  There  was  a 
bell  at  hand,  but  he  refused  to  use  it,  for  he  sensed  his 
own  cowardice.  Flis  cigar  had  gone  out,  and  he  re 
lighted  it.  He  made  an  effort  to  bring  his  mind  back 
to  O'Connor,  and  the  mystery  girl,  and  Kedsty.  He 
tried  to  visualize  McTrigger,  the  man  he  had  saved 
from  the  hangman,  waiting  for  Kedsty  in  the  office 
at  barracks.  He  pictured  the  girl,  as  O'Connor  had 


38         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

described  her,  with  her  black  hair  and  blue  eyes — » 
and  then  the  storm  broke. 

The  rain  came  down  in  a  deluge,  and  scarcely 
had  it  struck  when  the  door  opened  and  Cardigan 
hurried  in  to  close  the  window.  He  remained  for 
half  an  hour,  and  after  that  young  Mercer,  one  of 
his  two  assistants,  came  in  at  intervals.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  it  began  to  clear  up,  and  Father  Layonne 
returned  with  papers  properly  made  out  for  Kent's 
signature.  He  was  with  Kent  until  sundown,  when 
Mercer  came  in  with  supper. 

Between  that  hour  and  ten  o'clock  Kent  observed 
a  vigilance  on  the  part  of  Dr.  Cardigan  which  struck 
him  as  being  unusual.  Four  times  he  listened  with 
the  stethoscope  at  his  chest,  but  when  Kent  asked 
the  question  which  was  in  his  mind,  Cardigan  shook 
his  head. 

"It's  no  worse,  Kent.  I  don't  think  it  will  happen 
tonight." 

In  spite  of  this  assurance  Kent  was  positive  there 
was  in  Cardigan's  manner  an  anxiety  of  a  different 
quality  than  he  had  perceived  earlier  in  the  day.  The 
thought  was  a  definite  and  convincing  one.  He  be 
lieved  that  Cardigan  was  smoothing  the  way  with  a 
professional  lie. 

He  had  no  desire  to  sleep.  His  light  was  turned 
low,  and  his  window  was  open  again,  for  the  night 
had  cleared.  Never  had  air  tasted  sweeter  to  him 
than  that  which  came  in  through  his  window.  The 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         39 

little  bell  in  his  watch  tinkled  the  hour  of  eleven, 
when  he  heard  Cardigan's  door  close  for  a  last  time 
across  the  hall.  After  that  everything  was  quiet.  He 
drew  himself  nearer  to  the  window,  so  that  by  leaning 
forward  he  could  rest  himself  partly  on  the  sill.  He 
loved  the  night.  The  mystery  and  lure  of  those  still 
hours  of  darkness  when  the  world  slept  had  never 
ceased  to  hold  their  fascination  for  him.  Night  and 
he  were  friends.  He  had  discovered  many  of  its 
secrets.  A  thousand  times  he  had  walked  hand  in 
hand  with  the  spirit  of  it,  approaching  each  time  a 
little  nearer  to  the  heart  of  it,  mastering  its  life,  its 
sound,  the  whispering  languages  of  that  "other  side 
of  life"  which  rises  quietly  and  as  if  in  fear  to  live 
and  breathe  long  after  the  sun  has  gone  out.  To 
him  it  was  more  wonderful  than  day. 

And  this  night  that  lay  outside  his  window  now 
was  magnificent.  Storm  had  washed  the  atmosphere 
between  earth  and  sky,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the 
stars  had  descended  nearer  to  his  forests,  shining  in 
golden  constellations.  The  moon  was  coming  up  late, 
and  he  watched  the  ruddy  glow  of  it  as  it  rode  up 
over  the  wilderness,  a  splendid  queen  entering  upon 
a  stage  already  prepared  by  the  lesser  satellites  for 
her  coming.  No  longer  was  Kent  oppressed  or  afraid. 
In  still  deeper  inhalations  he  drank  the  night  air  into 
his  lungs,  and  in  him  there  seemed  to  grow  slowly  a 
new  strength.  His  eyes  and  ears  were  wide  open  and 
attentive.  The  town  was  asleep,  but  a  few  lights 


40         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

burned  dimly  here  and  there  along  the  river's  edge, 
and  occasionally  a  lazy  sound  cime  up  to  him — the 
clink  of  a  scow  chain,  the  bark  )f  a  dog,  the  rooster 
crowing.  In  spite  of  himself  he  smiled  at  that.  Old 
Duperow's  rooster  was  a  foolLh  bird  and  always 
crowed  himself  hoarse  when  the  moon  was  bright. 
And  in  front  of  him,  not  far  away,  were  two  white, 
lightning-shriven  spruce  stubs  standing  like  ghosts  in 
the  night.  In  one  of  these  a  pair  of  owls  had  nested, 
and  Kent  listened  to  the  queer,  chuckling  notes  of  their 
honeymooning  and  the  flutter  of  their  wings  as  they 
darted  out  now  and  then  in  play  close  to  his  window. 
And  then  suddenly  he  heard  the  sharp  snap  of  their 
beaks.  An  enemy  was  prowling  near,  and  the  owls 
were  giving  warning.  He  thought  he  heard  a  step. 
In  another  moment  or  two  the  step  was  unmistakable. 
Some  one  was  approaching  his  window  from  the  end 
of  the  building.  He  leaned  over  the  sill  and  found 
himself  staring  into  O'Connor's  face. 

"These  confounded  feet  of  mine!"  grunted  the  staff- 
sergeant.  "Were  you  asleep,  Kent?" 

"Wide-awake  as  those  owls,"  assured  Kent. 

O'Connor  drew  up  to  the  window.  "I  saw  your 
light  and  thought  you  were  awake,"  he  said.  "I 
wanted  to  make  sure  Cardigan  wasn't  with  you.  I 
don't  want  him  to  know  I  am  here.  And — if  you 
don't  mind — will  you  turn  off  the  light?  Kedsty  is 
awake,  too — as  v/ide-awake  as  the  owls." 

Kent  reached  out  a  hand,  and  his  room  was  in 


THE  VALLEY  CF  SILENT  MEN         41 

darkness  except  for  ;  f  moon  and  stars. 

O'Connor's  bulk  atn^  shut  out  a  part  of 

this.  His  face  was  "'in!'"  in  , '  orn. 

"It's  a  crime  to  -erne  to  you  like  this,  Kent/'  he 
said,  keeping  his  big  voice  do\v:'i  to  a  whisper.  "But 
I  had  to.  It's  my  last  chance.  And  I  know  there's 
something  wrong.  Kedsty  is  getting  me  out  of  the 
way — because  I  was  with  him  when  he  met  the  girl 
over  in  the  poplar  bush.  I'm  detailed  on  special  duty 
up  at  Fort  Simpson,  two  thousand  t  miles  by  water 
if  it's  a  foot!  It  means  six  months  or  a  year.  We 
leave  in  the  motor  boat  at  dawn  to  overtake  Rossand 
and  his  outfit,  so  I  had  to  take  this  chance  of  seeing 
you.  I  hesitated  until  I  knew  that  some  one  was 
awake  in  your  room." 

"I'm  glad  you  came,"  said  Kent  warmly.  "And— 
good  God,  how  I  would  like  to  go  with  you,  Bucky! 
If  it  wasn't  for  this  thing  in  my  chest,  ballooning  up 
for  an  explosion " 

"I  wouldn't  be  going,"  interrupted  O'Connor  in  a 
low  voice.  "If  you  were  on  your  feet,  Kent,  there  are 
a  number  of  things  that  wouldn't  be  happening.  Some 
thing  mighty  queer  has  come  over  Kedsty  since  this 
morning.  He  isn't  the  Kedsty  you  knew  yesterday 
or  for  the  last  ten  years.  He's  nervous,  and  I  miss 
my  guess  if  he  isn't  constantly  on  the  watch  for  some 
one.  And  he's  afraid  of  me.  I  know  it.  He's  afraid 
of  me  because  I  saw  him  go  to  pieces  when  he  met 
that  girl.  Fort  Simpson  is  simply  a  frame-up  to  get 


42         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

me  away  for  a  time.  H ;  tried  to  smooth  the  edge 
off  the  thing  by  promising  me  an  inspectorship  within 
the  year.  That  was  this  afternoon,  just  before  the 
storm.  Since  then " 

O'Connor  turned  and  faced  the  moonlight  for  a 
moment. 

"Since  then  I've  been  on  a  still-hunt  for  the  girl 
and  Sandy  McTrigger,"  he  added.  "And  they've  dis 
appeared,  Kent.  I  guess  McTrigger  just  melted  away 
into  the  wroods.  But  it's  the  girl  that  puzzles  me, 
I've  questioned  every  scow  chenian  at  the  Landing. 
I've  investigated  every  place  where  she  might  have  got 
food  or  lodging,  and  I  bribed  Mooie,  the  old  trailer, 
to  search  the  near-by  timber.  The  unbelievable  part 
of  it  isn't  her  disappearance.  It's  the  fact  that  not 
a  soul  in  Athabasca  Landing  has  seen  her!  Sounds 
incredible,  doesn't  it?  And  then,  Kent,  the  big  hunch 
came  to  me.  Remember  how  we've  always  played  up 
to  the  big  hunch?  And  this  one  struck  me  strong. 
I  think  I  know  where  the  girl  is." 

Kent,  forgetful  of  his  own  impending  doom,  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  thrill  of  O'Connor's  mystery. 
He  had  begun  to  visualize  the  situation.  More  than 
once  they  had  worked  out  enigmas  of  this  kind  to 
gether,  and  the  staff-sergeant  saw  the  old,  eager  glow 
in  his  eyes.  And  Kent  chuckled  joyously  in  that  thrill 
of  the  game  of  man-hunting,  and  said : 

"Kedsty  is  a  bachelor  and  doesn't  even  so  much 
as  look  at  a  woman.  But  he  likes  home  life " 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         43 

"And    has    built   himself    a    log   bungalow    some 
what  removed  from  the  town,"  added  O'Connor. 
"And  his  Chinaman  cook  and  housekeeper  is  away/* 
"And  the  bungalow  is  closed,  or  supposed  to  be." 
"Except  at  night,  when  Kedsty  goes  there  to  sleep." 
O'Connor's  hand  gripped  Kent's.     "Jimmy,  there 
never  was  a  team  in  N  Division  that  could  beat  us. 
The  girl  is  hiding  at  Kedsty's  place !" 

"But  why  hiding?"  insisted  Kent.  "She  hasn't  com 
mitted  a  crime." 

O'Connor  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  Kent  could  hear 
him  stuffing  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

"It's  simply  the  big  hunch,"  he  grunted.  "It's  got 
hold  of  me,  Kent,  and  I  can't  throw  it  off.  Why, 

•  • 

man 

He  lighted  a  match  in  the  cup  of  his  hands,  and 
Kent  saw  his  face.  There  was  more  than  uncertainty 
in  the  hard,  set  lines  of  it. 

"You  see,  I  went  back  to  the  poplars  again  after 
I  left  you  today,"  O'Connor  went  on.  "I  found  her 
footprints.  She  had  turned  off  the  trail,  and  in  places 
they  were  very  clear. 

"She  had  on  high-heeled  shoes,  Kent — those 
Frenchy  things — and  I  swear  her  feet  can't  be  much 
bigger  than  a  baby's!  I  found  where  Kedsty  caught 
up  with  her,  and  the  moss  was  pretty  well  beaten 
down.  He  returned  through  the  poplars,  but  the  girl 
went  on  and  into  the  edge  of  the  spruce.  I  lost  her 
trail  there.  By  traveling  in  that  timber  it  was  possible 


44         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

for  her  to  reach  Kedsty' s  bungalow  without  being 
seen.  It  must  have  been  difficult  going,  with  shoes 
half  as  big  as  my  hand  and  heels  two  inches  high! 
And  I've  been  wondering,  why  didn't  she  wear  bush- 
country  shoes  or  moccasins?" 

"Because  she  came  from  the  South  and  not  the 
North,"  suggested  Kent.  "Probably  up  from  Edmon 
ton." 

"Exactly.  And  Kedsty  wasn't  expecting  her,  was 
he?  If  he  had  been,  that  first  sight  of  her  wouldn't 
have  shattered  every  nerve  in  his  body.  That's  why 
the  big  hunch  won't  let  loose  of  me,  Kent.  From  the 
moment  he  saw  her,  he  was  a  different  man.  His 
attitude  toward  you  changed  instantly.  If  he  could 
savs  you  now  by  raising  his  little  finger,  he  wouldn't 
do  it,  simply  because  it's  absolutely  necessary  for  him 
to  have  an  excuse  for  freeing  McTrigger.  Your  con 
fession  came  at  just  the  psychological  moment.  The 
girl's  unspoken  demand  there  in  the  poplars  was  that 
he  free  McTrigger,  and  it  was  backed  up  by  a  threat 
which  Kedsty  understood  and  which  terrified  him  to 
his  marrow.  McTrigger  must  have  seen  him  after 
ward,  for  he  waited  at  the  office  until  Kedsty  came. 
I  don't  know  what  passed  between  them.  Constable 
Doyle  says  they  were  together  for  half  an  hour.  Then 
McTrigger  walked  out  of  barracks,  and  no  one  has 
seen  him  since.  It's  mighty  queer.  The  whole  thing 
is  queer.  And  the  queerest  part  of  the  whole  business 
is  this  sudden  commission  of  mine  at  Fort  Simpson." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN  ,      45 

Kent  leaned  back  against  his  pillows.  His  breath 
came  in  a  series  of  short,  hacking  coughs.  In  the 
star  glow  O'Connor  saw  his  face  grow  suddenly  hag 
gard  and  tired-looking,  and  he  leaned  far  in  so  that 
in  both  his  own  hands  he  held  one  of  Kent's. 

"I'm  tiring  you,  Jimmy,"  he  said  huskily.  "Good- 

by,  old  pal!  I — I "  He  hesitated  and  then  lied 

steadily.  "I'm  going  up  to  take  a  look  around  Kedsty's 
place.  I  won't  be  gone  more  than  half  an  hour  and 
will  stop  on  my  way  back.  If  you're  asleep " 

"I  won't  be  asleep,"  said  Kent. 

O'Connor's  hands  gripped  closer.  "Good-by, 
Jimmy." 

"Good-by."  And  then,  as  O'Connor  stepped  back 
into  the  night,  Kent's  voice  called  after  him  softly : 
"I'll  be  with  you  on  the  long  trip,  Bucky.  Take  care 
of  yourself — always." 

O'Connor's  answer  was  a  sob,  a  sob  that  rose  in 
his  throat  like  a  great  fist,  and  choked  him,  and  filled 
his  eyes  .with  scalding  tears  that  shut  out  the  glow 
of  moon  and  stars.  And  he  did  not  go  toward 
Kedsty's,  but  trudged  heavily  in  the  direction  of  the 
river,  for  he  knew  that  Kent  had  called  his  lie,  and 
that  they  had  said  their  last  farewell. 


I 


" 


CHAPTER  IV 


F  T  was  a  long  time  after  O'Connor  had  gone  before 
•*•  Kent  at  last  fell  asleep.  It  was  a  slumber  weight 
ed  with  the  restlessness  of  a  brain  fighting  to  the 
last  against  exhaustion  and  the  inevitable  end.  A 
strange  spirit  seemed  whirling  Kent  back  through  the 
years  he  had  lived,  even  to  the  days  of  his  boyhood, 
leaping  from  crest  to  crest,  giving  to  him  swift  and 
passing  visions  of  valleys  almost  forgotten,  of  hap 
penings  and  things  long  ago  faded  and  indistinct  in 
his  memory.  Vividly  his  dreams  were  filled  with 
ghosts — ghosts  that  were  transformed,  as  his  spirit 
went  back  to  them,  until  they  were  riotous  with  life 
and  pulsating  with  the  red  blood  of  reality.  He  was 
a  boy  again,  playing  three-old-cat  in  front  of  the  little 
old  red  brick  schoolhouse  half  a  mile  from  the  farm 
where  he  was  born,  and  where  his  mother  had  died. 
And  Skinny  Hill,  dead  many  years  ago,  was  his  part 
ner  at  the  bat — lovable  Skinny,  with  his  smirking  grin 
and  his  breath  that  always  smelled  of  the  most  de 
licious  onions  ever  raised  in  Ohio.  And  then,  at  din 
ner  hour,  he  was  trading  some  of  his  mother's  cucum 
ber  pickles  for  some  of  Skinny's  onions — two  onions 
for  a  pickle,  and  n-3ver  a  change  in  the  price.  And 
he  played  old-fashioned  casino  with  his  mother,  and 

46 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         47 

they  were  picking  blackberries  together  in  the  woods, 
and  he  killed  over  again  a  snake  that  he  had  clubbed 
to  death  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  while  his  mother 
ran  away  and  screamed  and  then  sat  down  and  cried. 

He  had  worshiped  that  mother,  and  the  spirit  of  his 
dreams  did  not  let  him  look  down  into  the  valley 
where  she  lay  dead,  under  a  little  white  fcjpne  in  the 
country  cemetery  a  thousand  miles  away,*' with  his 
father  close  beside  her.  But  it  gave  him  a  passing 
thrill  of  the  days  in  which  he  had  fought  his  way 
through  college — and  then  it  brought  him  into  the 
North,  his  beloved  North. 

For  hours  the  wilderness  was  heavy  about  Kent. 
He  moved  restlessly,  at  times  he  seemed  about  to 
awaken,  but  always  he  slipped  back  into  the  slumberous 
arms  of  his  forests.  He  was  on  the  trail  in  the  cold, 
gray  beginning  of  Winter,  and  the  glow  of  his  camp- 
fire  made  a  radiant  patch  of  red  glory  in  the  heart  of 
the  night,  and  close  to  him  in  that  glow  sat  O'Connor. 
He  was  behind  dogs  and  sledge,  fighting  storm;  dark 
and  mysterious  streams  rippled  under  his  canoe;  he 
was  on  the  Big  River,  O'Connor  with  him  again — • 
and  then,  suddenly,  he  was  holding  a  blazing  gun  in 
his  hand,  and  he  and  O'Connor  stood  with  their  backs 
to  a  rack,  facing  the  bloodthirsty  rage  of  McCaw  and 
his  free-traders.  The  roar  of  the  guns  half  roused 
him,  and  after  that  came  pleasanter  things — the  dron 
ing  of  wind  in  the  spruce  tops,  the  singing  of  swollen 
streams  in  Springtime,  the  songs  of  birds,  the  sweet 


48         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

smells  of  life,  the  glory  of  life  as  he  had  lived  it,  he 
and  O'Connor.  In  the  end,  half  between  sleep  and 
wakefulness,  he  was  fighting  a  smothering  pressure 
on  his  chest.  It  was  an  oppressive  and  torturing 
thing,  like  the  tree  that  had  fallen  on  him  over  in  the 
Jackfish  country,  and  he  felt  himself  slipping  off  into 
darkness.  Suddenly  there  was  a  gleam  of  light.  He 
opened  his  eyes.  The  sun  was  flooding  in  at  his  win 
dow,  and  the  weight  on  his  chest  was  the  gentle  pres 
sure  of  Cardigan's  stethoscope. 

In  spite  of  the  physical  stress  of  the  phantoms 
which  his  mind  has  conceived,  Kent  awakened  so 
quietly  that  Cardigan  was  not  conscious  of  the  fact 
until  he  raised  his  head.  There  was  something  in 
his  face  which  he  tried  to  conceal,  but  Kent  caught 
it  before  it  was  gone.  There  were  dark  hollows  under 
his  eyes.  He  was  a  bit  haggard,  as  though  he  had 
spent  a  sleepless  night.  Kent  pulled  himself  up,  squint 
ing  at  the  sun  and  grinning  apologetically.  H«  had 
slept  well  along  into  the  day,  and 

He  caught  himself  with  a  sudden  grimace  of  pain. 
A  flash  of  something  hot  and  burning  swept  through 
his  chest.  It  was  like  a  knife.  He  opened  his  mouth 
to  breathe  in  the  air.  The  pressure  inside  him  was 
no  longer  the  pressure  of  a  stethoscope.  It  was  real. 

Cardigan,  standing  over  him,  was  trying  to  look 
cheerful.  "Too  much  of  the  night  air,  Kent,"  he  ex 
plained.  "That  will  pass  away — soon." 

It  seemed  to  Kent  that  Cardigan  gave  an  almost  im- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         49 

perceptible  emphasis  to  the  word  "soon,"  but  he  asked 
no  question.  He  was  quite  sure  that  he  understood, 
and  he  knew  how  unpleasant  for  Cardigan  the  answer 
to  it  would  be.  He  fumbled  under  his  pillow  for  his 
watch.  It  was  nine  o'clock.  Cardigan  was  moving 
about  uneasily,  arranging  the  things  on  the  table  and 
adjusting  the  shade  at  the  window.  For  a  few  mo 
ments,  with  his  back  to  Kent,  he  stood  without  mov 
ing.  Then  he  turned,  and  said: 

"Which  will  you  have,  Kent — a  wash-up  and  break 
fast,  or  a  visitor?" 

"I  am  not  hungry,  and  I  don't  feel  like  soap  and 
water  just  now.  Who's  the  visitor?  Father  Layonne 
or— Kedsty?" 

"Neither.    It's  a  lady." 

"Then  I'd  better  have  the  soap  and  water !  Do  you 
mind  telling  me  who  it  is?" 

Cardigan  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know.  I've 
never  seen  her  before.  She  came  this  morning  while 
I  was  still  in  pajamas,  and  has  been  waiting  ever 
since.  I  told  her  to  come  back  again,  but  she  insisted 
that  she  would  remain  until  you  were  awake.  She 
has  been  very  patient  for  two  hours." 

A  thrill  which  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal  leaped 
through  Kent.  "Is  she  a  young  woman?"  he  de 
manded  eagerly.  "Wonderful  black  hair,  blue  eyes, 
wears  high-heeled  shoes  just  about  half  as  big  as  your 
hand — and  very  beautiful?" 

"All  of  that,"  nodded  Cardigan.     "I  even  noticed 


50         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  shoes,  Jimmy.  A  very  beautiful  young  woman!" 
"Please  let  her  come  in,"  said  Kent.  "Mercer 
scrubbed  me  last  night,  and  I  feel  fairly  fit.  She'll 
forgive  this  beard,  and  I'll  apologize  for  your  sake. 
What  is  her  name?" 

"I  asked  her,  and  she  didn't  seem  to  hear.  A  little 
later  Mercer  asked  her,  and  he  said  she  just  looked 
at  him  for  a  moment  and  he  froze.  She  is  reading  a 
volume  of  my  Plutarch's  'Lives' — actually  reading* 
it.  I  know  it  by  the  way  she  turns  the  pages !" 

Kent  drew  himself  up  higher  against  his  pillows  and 
faced  the  door  when  Cardigan  went  out.  In  a  flash 
all  that  O'Connor  had  said  swept  back  upon  him — 
this  girl,  Kedsty,  the  mystery  of  it  all.  Why  had  she 
come  to  see  him?  What  could  be  the  motive  of  her 
visit — unless  it  was  to  thank  him  for  the  confession 
that  had  given  Sandy  McTrigger  his  freedom?  O'Con 
nor  was  right.  She  was  deeply  concerned  in  McTrig 
ger  and  had  come  to  express  her  gratitude.  He  lis 
tened.  Distant  footsteps  sounded  in  the  hall.  They 
approached  quickly  and  paused  outside  his  door.  A 
hand  moved  the  latch,  but  for  a  moment  the  door  did 
not  open.  He  heard  Cardigan's  voice,  then  Cardigan's 
footsteps  retreating  down  the  hall.  His  heart  thumped. 
He  could  not  remember  when  he  had  been  so  upset 
over  an  unimportant  thing. 


CHAPTER  V 

latch  moved  slowly,  and  with  its  movement 
came  a  gentle  tap  on  the  panel. 

"Come  in,"  he  said. 

The  next  instant  he  was  staring.  The  girl  had  en 
tered  and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  O'Connor's 
picture  stood  in  flesh  and  blood  before  him.  The 
girl's  eyes  met  his  own.  They  were  like  glorious  vio 
lets,  as  O'Connor  had  said,  but  they  were  not  the 
eyes  he  had  expected  to  see.  They  were  the  wide-open, 
curious  eyes  of  a  child.  He  had  visualized  them  as 
pools  of  slumbering  flame — the  idea  O'Connor  had 
given  him — and  they  were  the  opposite  of  that.  Their 
one  emotion  seemed  to  be  the  emotion  roused  by  an 
overwhelming,  questioning  curiosity.  They  were  ap 
parently  not  regarding  him  as  a  dying  human  being, 
but  as  a  creature  immensely  interesting  to  look  upon. 
In  place  of  the  gratitude  he  had  anticipated,  they  were 
filled  with  a  great,  wondering  interrogation,  and  there 
was  not  the  slightest  hint  of  embarrassment  in  their 
gaze.  For  a  space  it  seemed  to  Kent  that  he  saw  noth 
ing  but  those  wonderful,  dispassionate  eyes  looking  at 
him.  Then  he  saw  the  rest  of  her — her  amazing  hair, 
her  pale,  exquisite  face,  the  slimness  and  beauty  of 
her  as  she  stood  with  her  back  to  the  door,  one  hand 

51 


52         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

still  resting  on  the  latch.  He  had  never  seen  any 
thing  quite  like  her.  He  might  have  guessed  that  she 
was  eighteen,  or  twenty,  or  twenty-two.  Her  hair, 
wreathed  in  shimmering,  velvety  coils  from  the  back 
to  the  crown  of  her  head,  struck  him  as  it  had  struck 
O'Connor,  as  unbelievable.  The  glory  of  it  gave  to 
her  an  appearance  of  height  which  she  did  not  possess, 
for  she  was  not  tall,  and  her  slimness  added  to  the  illu 
sion. 

And  then,  greatly  to  his  embarrassment  in  the  next 
instant,  his  eyes  went  to  her  feet.  Again  O'Connor 
was  right — tiny  feet,  high-heeled  pumps,  ravishingly 
turned  ankles  showing  under  a  skirt  of  some  fluffy 
brown  stuff  or  other 

Correcting  himself,  his  face  flushed  red.  The  faint 
est  tremble  of  a  smile  was  on  the  girl's  lips.  She 
looked  down,  arid  for  the  first  time  he  saw  what 
O'Connor  had  seen,  the  sunlight  kindling  slumberous 
fires  in  her  hair. 

Kent  tried  to  say  something,  but  before  he  suc 
ceeded  she  had  taken  possession  of  the  chair  near  his 
bedside. 

"I  have  been  waiting  a  long  time  to  see  you,"  she 
said.  "You  are  James  Kent,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  I'm  Jim  Kent.  I'm  sorry  Dr.  Cardigan  kept 
you  waiting.  If  I  had  known " 

He  was  getting  a  grip  on  himself  again,  and  smiled 
at  her.  He  noticed  the  amazing  length  of  her  dark 
lashes,  but  the  violet  eyes  behind  them  did  not  smile 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          53 

back  at  him.  The  tranquillity  of  their  gaze  was  dis 
concerting.  It  was  as  if  she  had  not  quite  made  up  her 
mind  about  him  yet  and  was  still  trying  to  classify 
him  in  the  museum  of  things  she  had  known. 

"He  should  have  awakened  me,"  Kent  went  on,  try 
ing  to  keep  himself  from  slipping  once  more.  "It  isn't 
polite  to  keep  a  young  lady  waiting  two  hours !" 

This  time  the  blue  eyes  made  him  feel  that  his  smile 
was  a  maudlin  grin. 

"Yes — you  are  different."  She  spoke  softly,  as  if 
expressing  the  thought  to  herself.  "That  is  what  I 
came  to  find  out,  if  you  were  different.  You  are  dy 
ing?" 

"My  God— yes— I'm  dying!"  gasped  Kent.  "Ac 
cording  to  Dr.  Cardigan  I'm  due  to  pop  off  this  min 
ute.  Aren't  you  a  little  nervous,  sitting  so  near  to 
a  man  who's  ready  to  explode  while  you're  looking  at 
him?" 

For  the  first  time  the  eyes  changed.  She  was  not 
facing  the  window,  yet  a  glow  like  the  glow  of  sun 
light  flashed  into  them,  soft,  luminous,  almost  laugh 
ing. 

"No,  it  doesn't  frighten  me,"  she  assured  him.  "I 
have  always  thought  I  should  like  to  see  a  man  die — 
not  quickly,  like  drowning  or  being  shot,  but  slowly, 
an  inch  at  a  time.  But  I  shouldn't  like  to  see  you  die." 

"I'm  glad,"  breathed  Kent.  "It's  a  great  satisfac 
tion  to  me." 

"Yet  I  shouldn't  be  frightened  if  you  did." 


54         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"Oh!" 

Kent  drew  himself  up  straighter  against  his  pil 
lows.  He  had  been  a  man  of  many  adventures.  He 
had  faced  almost  every  conceivable  kind  of  shock. 
But  this  was  a  new  one.  He  stared  into  the  blue  eyes, 
tongueless  and  mentally  dazed.  They  were  cool  and 
sweet  and  not  at  all  excited.  And  he  knew  that  she 
spoke  the  truth.  Not  by  a  quiver  of  those  lovely  lashes 
would  she  betray  either  fear  or  horror  if  he  popped  off 
right  there.  It  was  astonishing. 

Something  like  resentment  shot  for  an  instant  into 
his  bewildered  brain.  Then  it  was  gone,  and  in  a 
flash  it  came  upon  him  that  she  was  but  uttering  his 
own  philosophy  of  life,  showing  him  life's  cheapness, 
life's  littleness,  the  absurdity  of  being  distressed  by 
looking  upon  the  light  as  it  flickered  out.  And  she 
was  doing  it,  not  as  a  philosopher,  but  with  the  beauti 
ful  unconcern  of  a  child. 

Suddenly,  as  if  impelled  by  an  emotion  in  direct 
contradiction  to  her  apparent  lack  of  sympathy,  she 
reached  out  a  hand  and  placed  it  on  Kent's  forehead. 
It  was  another  shock.  It  was  not  a  professional 
touch,  but  a  soft,  cool  little  pressure  that  sent  a  com 
forting  thrill  through  him.  The  hand  was  there  for 
only  a  moment,  and  she  withdrew  it  to  entwine  the 
slim  fingers  with  those  of  the  others  in  her  lap. 

"You  have  no  fever,"  she  said.  "What  makes  you 
think  you  are  dying?" 

Kent  explained  what  was  happening  inside  hin% 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         55 

He  was  completely  shunted  off  his  original  track  of 
thought  and  anticipation.  He  had  expected  to  ask  for 
at  least  a  mutual  introduction  when  his  visitor  came 
into  his  room,  and  had  anticipated  taking  upon  him 
self  the  position  of  a  polite  inquisitor.  In  spite  of 
O'Connor,  he  had  not  thought  she  would  be  quite  so 
pretty.  He  had  not  believed  her  eyes  would  be  so 
beautiful,  or  their  lashes  so  long,  or  the  touch  of  her 
hand  so  pleasantly  unnerving.  And  now,  in  place  of 
asking  for  her  name  and  the  reason  for  her  visit,  he 
became  an  irrational  idiot,  explaining  to  her  certain 
matters  of  physiology  that  had  to  do  with  aortas  and 
aneurismal  sacs.  He  had  finished  before  the  absurd 
ity  of  the  situation  dawned  upon  him,  and  with  ab 
surdity  came  the  humor  of  it.  Even  dying,  Kent 
could  not  fail  to  see  the  funny  side  of  a  thing.  It 
struck  him  as  suddenly  as  had  the  girl's  beauty  and 
her  bewildering  and  unaffected  ingenuousness. 

Looking  at  him,  that  same  glow  of  mysterious  ques 
tioning  in  her  eyes,  the  girl  found  him  suddenly  laugh 
ing  straight  into  her  face. 

"This  is  funny.  It's  very  funny,  Miss • 

Miss " 

"Marette,"  she  supplied,  answering  his  hesitation. 

"It's  funny,  Miss  Marette." 

"Not  Miss  Marette.    Just  Marette,"  she  corrected. 

"I  say,  it's  funny,"  he  tried  again.  "You  see,  it's 
not  so  terribly  pleasant  as  you  might  think  to — er — • 
be  here,  where  I  am,  dying.  And  last  night  I  thought 


56         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

about  the  finest  thing  in  the  world  would  be  to  have  a 
woman  beside  me,  a  woman  who'd  be  sort  of  sym 
pathetic,  you  know,  ease  the  thing  off  a  little,  maybe 
say  she  was  sorry.  And  then  the  Lord  answers  my 
prayer,  and  you  come — and  you  sort  of  give  me  the 
impression  that  you  made  the  appointment  with  your 
self  to  see  how  a  fellow  locks  when  he  pops  off." 

The  shimmer  of  light  came  into  the  blue  eyes  again. 
She  seemed  to  have  done  with  her  mental  analysis  of 
him,  and  lie  saw  that  a  bit  of  color  was  creeping  into 
her  cheeks,  pale  when  she  had  entered  the  room. 

"You  wouldn't  be  the  first  I've  seen  pop  off,"  she 
assured  him.  "There  have  been  a  number,  and  I've 
never  cried  very  much.  I'd  rather  see  a  man  die  than 
some  animals.  But  I  shouldn't  like  to  see  you  do  it. 
Does  that  comfort  you — like  the  woman  you  prayed 
the  Lord  for?" 

"It  does,"  gasped  Kent.  "But  why  the  devil,  Miss 
Marette " 

"Marette,"  she  corrected  again. 

"Yes,  Marette — why  the  devil  have  you  come  to 
see  me  at  just  the  moment  I'm  due  to  explode?  And 
what's  your  other  name,  and  how  old  are  you,  and 
what  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"I  haven't  any  other  name,  I'm  twenty,  and  I  came 
to  get  acquainted  with  you  and  see  what  you  are  like." 

"Bully!"  exclaimed  Kent.  "We're  getting  there 
fast !  And  now,  why  ?" 

The  girl  drew  her  chair  a  few  inches  nearer,  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          57 

for  a  moment  Kent  thought  that  her  lovely  mouth  was 
trembling  on  the  edge  of  a  smile. 

"Because  you  have  lied  so  splendidly  to  save  an 
other  man  who  was  about  to  die." 

"Et  tu,  Drute!"  sighed  Kent,  leaning  back  against 
his  pillows.  "Isn't  it  possible  for  a  decent  man  to 
kill  another  man  and  not  be  called  a  liar  when  he  tells 
about  it?  Why  do  s.o  many  believe  that  I  lie?" 

"They  don't,"  said  the  girl.  "They  believe  you — • 
now.  You  have  gone  so  completely  into  the  details  of 
the  murder  in  your  confession  that  they  are  quite  con 
vinced.  It  would  be  too  bad  if  you  lived,  for  you 
surely  would  be  hanged.  Your  lie  sounds  and  reads 
like  the  truth.  But  I  know  it  is  a  lie.  You  did  not 
kill  John  Barkley." 

"And  the  reason  for  your  suspicion  ?" 

'For  fully  half  a  minute  the  girl's  eyes  rested  on 
his  own.  Again  they  seemed  to  be  looking  through 
him  and  into  him.  "Because  I  know  the  man  who  did 
kill  him,"  she  said  quietly,  "and  it  was  not  you." 

Kent  made  a  mighty  effort  to  appear  calm.  He 
reached  for  a  cigar  from  the  box  that  Cardigan  had 
placed  on  his  bed,  and  nibbled  the  end  of  it.  "Has 
some  one  else  been  confessing?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head  the  slightest  bit. 

"Did  you — er — see  this  other  gentleman  kill  John 
Barkley?"  he  insisted. 

"No." 

"Then  I  must  answer  you  as  I  have  answered  at 


58         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

least  one  other.  I  killed  John  Barkley.  If  you  sus 
pect  some  other  person,  your  suspicion  is  wrong." 

"What  a  splendid  liar !"  she  breathed  softly.  "Don't 
you  believe  in  God?'* 

Kent  winced.  "In  a  large-  embracing  sense,  yes," 
he  said.  "I  believe  in  Him,  for  instance,  as  revealed 
to  our  senses  in  all  that  living,  growing  glory  you  see 
out  there  through  the  window  Nature  and  I  have 
become  pretty  good  pals,  and  you  see  I've  sort  of 
built  up  a  mother  goddess  to  worship  instead  of  a 
he-god.  Sacrilege,  maybe,  but  it's  a  great  comfort  at 
times.  But  you  didn't  come  to  talk  religion?" 

The  lovely  head  bent  still  nearer  him.  He  felt  an 
impelling  desire  to  put  up  his  hand  and  touch  her  shin 
ing  hair,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  forehead. 

"I  know  who  killed  John  Barkley,"  she  insisted. 
"I  know  how  and  when  and  why  he  was  killed.  Please 
tell  me  the  truth.  I  want  to  know.  Why  did  you 
confess  to  a  crime  which  y6u  did  not  commit?" 

Kent  took  time  to  light  his  cigar.  The  girl  watched 
him  closely,  almost  eagerly. 

"I  may  be  mad,"  he  said.  "It  is  possible  for  any 
human  being  to  be  mad  and  not  know  it.  That's 
the  funny  part  about  insanity.  But  if  I'm  not  insane, 
I  killed  Barkley;  if  I  didn't  kill  him,  I  must  be  insane, 
for  I'm  very  well  convinced  that  I  did.  Either  that, 
or  you  are  insane.  I  have  my  suspicions  that  you  are. 
Would  a  sane  person  wear  pumps  with  heels  like  those 
up  here  ?"  He  pointed  accusingly  to  the  floor. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          59 

For  the  first  time  the  girl  smiled,  openly,  frankly, 
gloriously.  It  was  as  if  her  heart  had  leaped  forth 
for  an  instant  and  had  greeted  him.  And  then,  like 
sunlight  shadowed  by  cloud,  the  smile  was  gone.  "You 
are  a  brave  man,"  she  said.  "You  are  splendid.  I 
hate  men.  But  I  think  if  you  lived  very  long,  I 
should  love  you.  I  will  believe  that  you  killed 
Barkley.  You  compel  me  to  believe  it.  You  con 
fessed,  when  you  found  you  were  going  to  die,  that 
an  innocent  man  might  be  saved.  Wasn't  that  it?" 

Kent  nodded  weakly.  "That's  it.  I  hate  to  think 
of  it  that  way,  but  I  guess  it's  true.  I  confessed  be 
cause  I  knew  I  was  going  to  die.  Otherwise  I  am 
quite  sure  that  I  should  have  let  the  other  fellow  take 
my  medicine  for  me.  You  must  think  I  am  a  beast." 

"All  men  are  beasts,"  she  agreed  quickly.  "But  you 
are — a  different  kind  of  beast.  I  like  you.  If  there 
were  a  chance,  I  might  fight  for  you.  I  can  fight." 
She  held  up  her  two  small  hands,  half  smiling  at  him 
again. 

"But  not  with  those,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  think  you 
would  fight  with  your  eyes.  O'Connor  told  me  they 
half  killed  Kedsty  when  you  met  them  in  the  poplar 
grove  yesterday." 

He  had  expected  that  the  mention  of  Inspector 
Kedsty's  name  would  disturb  her.  It  had  no  effect 
that  he  could  perceive. 

"O'Connor  was  the  big,  red-faced  man  with  Mr. 
Kedsty?" 


60         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"Yes,  my  trail  partner.  He  came  to  me  yesterday 
and  raved  about  your  eyes.  They  are  beautiful;  I've 
never  seen  eyes  half  so  lovely.  But  that  wasn't  what 
struck  Bucky  so  hard.  It  was  the  effect  they  had  on 
Kedsty.  He  said  they  shattered  every  nerve  in  Ked- 
sty's  body,  and  Kedsty  isn't  the  sort  to  get  easily 
frightened.  And  the  queer  part  of  it  was  that  the 
instant  you  had  gone,  he  gave  O'Connor  an  order  to 
free  McTrigger — and  then  turned  and  followed  you. 
All  the  rest  of  that  day  O'Connor  tried  to  discover 
something  about  you  at  the  Landing.  He  couldn't 
find  hide  nor  hair — I  beg  pardon ! — I  mean  he  couldn't 
find  out  anything  about  you  at  all.  We  made  up  our 
minds  that  for  some  reason  or  other  you  were  hiding 
up  at  Kedsty's  bungalow.  You  don't  mind  a  fellow 
saying  all  this — when  he  is  going  to  pop  off  soon — 
do  you?" 

He  was  half  frightened  at  the  directness  with  which 
he  had  expressed  the  thing.  He  would  gladly  have 
buried  his  own  curiosity  and  all  of  O'Connor's  sus 
picions  for  another  moment  of  her  hand  on  his  fore 
head.  But  it  was  out,  and  he  waited. 

She  was  looking  down,  her  fingers  twisting  some 
sort  of  tasseled  dress  ornament  in  her  lap,  and  Kent 
mentally  measured  the  length  of  her  lashes  with  a 
foot  rule  in  mind.  They  were  superb,  and  in  the 
thrill  of  his  admiration  he  would  have  sworn  they 
were  an  inch  long.  She  looked  up  suddenly  and  caught 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         61 

the  glow  in  his  eyes  and  the  flush  that  lay  under  the 
tan  of  his  cheeks.  Her  own  color  had  deepened  a 
little. 

"What  if  you  shouldn't  die?"  she  asked  him  blunt 
ly,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  a  word  of  all  he  had  said 
about  Kedsty.  "What  would  you  do?" 

"I'm  going  to." 

"But  if  you  shouldn't?" 

Kent  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  suppose  I'd  have 
to  take  my  medicine.  You're  not  going?" 

She  had  straightened  up  and  was  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  her  chair.  "Yes,  I'm  going.  I'm  afraid  of  my 
eyes.  I  may  look  at  you  as  I  looked  at  Mr.  Kedsty, 
and  then — pop  you'd  go,  quick !  And  I  don't  want  to 
be  here  when  you  die!" 

He  heard  a  soft  little  note  of  laughter  in  her  throat. 
It  sent  a  chill  through  him.  What  an  adorable,  blood 
thirsty  little  wretch  she  was!  He  stared  at  her  bent 
head,  at  the  shining  coils  of  her  wonderful  hair.  Un 
done,  he  could  see  it  completely  hiding  her.  And  it 
was  so  soft  and  warm  that  again  he  was  tempted  to 
reach  out  and  touch  it.  She  was  wonderful,  and  yet 
it  was  not  possible  that  she  had  a  heart.  Her  appar 
ent  disregard  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a  dying  man 
was  almost  diabolic.  There  was  no  sympathy  in  the 
expression  of  her  violet  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him. 
She  was  even  making  fun  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
about  to  die! 


62         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

She  stood  up,  surveying  for  the  first  time  the  room 
in  which  she  had  been  sitting.  Then  she  turned  to 
the  window  and  looked  out.  She  reminded  Kent  of  a 
beautiful  young  willow  that  had  grown  at  the  edge  of 
a  stream,  exquisite,  slender,  strong.  He  could  have 
picked  her  up  in  his  arms  as  easily  as  a  child,  yet  he 
sensed  in  the  lithe  beauty  of  her  body  forces  that 
could  endure  magnificently.  The  careless  poise  of  her 
head  fascinated  him.  For  that  head  and  the  hair  that 
crowned  it  he  knew  that  half  the  women  of  the  earth 
would  have  traded  precious  years  of  their  lives. 

And  then,  without  turning  toward  him,  she  said, 
"Some  day,  when  I  die,  I  wish  I  might  have  as  pleas 
ant  a  room  as  this." 

"I  hope  you  never  die/'  he  replied  devoutly. 

She  came  back  and  stood  for  a  moment  beside  him. 

"I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time,"  she  said,  as 
though  he  had  given  her  a  special  sort  of  entertain 
ment.  "It's  too  bad  you  are  going  to  die.  I'm  sure 
we  should  have  been  good  friends.  Aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  very  sure.  If  you  had  only  arrived  soon 
er " 

"And  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  a  different  kind 
of  man-beast,"  she  interrupted  him.  "It  is  really  true 
that  I  shouldn't  like  to  see  you  die.  I  want  to  get 
away  before  it  happens.  Would  you  care  to  have  me 
kiss  you?" 

For  an  instant  Kent  felt  that  his  aorta  was  about 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         63 

to   give    away.      "I — I   would,"   he   gasped  huskily. 

"Then — close  your  eyes,  please." 

He  obeyed.  She  bent  over  him.  He  felt  the  soft 
touch  of  her  hands  and  caught  for  an  instant  the  per 
fume  of  her  face  and  hair,  and  then  the  thrill  of  her 
lips  pressed  warm  and  soft  upon  his. 

She  was  not  flushed  or  embarrassed  when  he  looked 
at  her  again.  It  was  as  if  she  had  kissed  a  baby  and 
was  wondering  at  its  red  face.  "I've  only  kissed  three 
men  before  you,"  she  avowed.  "It  is  strange.  I  never 
thought  I  should  do  it  again.  And  now,  good-by!" 
She  moved  quickly  to  the  door. 

"Wait,"  he  cried  plaintively.  "Please  wait.  I  want 
to  know  your  name.  It  is  Marette " 

"Radisson,"  she  finished  for  him.  "Marette  Rad- 
isson,  and  I  come  from  away  off  there,  from  a  place 
we  call  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men."  She  was  pointing 
into  the  north. 

"The  North!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  it  is  far  north.    Very  far." 

Her  hand  was  on  the  latch.  The  door  opened 
slowly. 

"Wait,"  he  pleaded  again.     "You  must  not  go." 

"Yes,  I  must  go.  I  have  remained  too  long.  I  am 
sorry  I  kissed  you.  I  shouldn't  have  done  that.  But 
I  had  to  because  you  are  such  a  splendid  liar !" 

The  door  opened  quickly  and  closed  behind  her. 
He  heard  her  steps  almost  running  down  the  hail, 


64         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

where  not  long  ago  he  had  listened  to  the  last  of 
O'Connor's. 

And  then  there  was  silence,  and  in  that  silence  he 
heard  her  words  again,  drumming  like  little  hammers 
in  his  head,  "Because  you  are  such  a  splendid  liar!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

TAMES  KENT,  among  his  other  qualities  good  and 
•*  bad,  possessed  a  merciless  opinion  of  his  own  short 
comings,  but  never,  in  that  opinion,  had  he  fallen  so 
low  as  in  the  interval  which  immediately  followed  the 
closing  of  his  door  behind  the  mysterious  girl  who 
had  told  him  that  her  name  was  Marette  Radisson. 
No  sooner  was  she  gone  than  the  overwhelming  su 
periority  of  her  childlike  cleverness  smote  him  until, 
ashamed  of  himself,  he  burned  red  in  his  aloneness. 

He,  Sergeant  Kent,  the  coolest  man  on  the  force  next 
to  Inspector  Kedsty,  the  most  dreaded  of  catechists 
when  questioning  criminals,  the  man  who  had  won  the 
reputation  of  facing  quietly  and  with  deadly  sureness 
the  most  menacing  of  dangers,  had  been  beaten — hor 
ribly  beaten — by  a  girl !  And  yet,  in  defeat,  an  irre 
pressible  and  at  times  distorted  sense  of  humor  made 
him  give  credit  to  the  victor.  The  shame  of  the  thing 
was  his  acknowledgment  that  a  bit  of  feminine  beauty 
had  done  the  trick.  He  had  made  fun  of  O'Connor 
when  the  big  staff-sergeant  had  described  the  effect  of 
the  girl's  eyes  on  Inspector  Kedsty.  And,  now,  if 
O'Connor  could  know  of  what  had  happened  here • 

And  then,  like  a  rubber  ball,  that  saving  sense  of 
humor  bounced  up  out  of  the  mess,  and  Kent  found 

65 


66         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

himself  chuckling  as  his  face  grew  cooler.  His  visitor 
had  come,  and  she  had  gone,  and  he  knew  no  more 
about  her  than  when  she  had  entered  his  room,  except 
that  her  very  pretty  name  was  Marette  Radisson.  He 
was  just  beginning  to  think  of  the  questions  he  had 
wanted  to  ask,  a  dozen,  half  a  hundred  of  them — 
more  definitely  who  she  was;  how  and  why  she  had 
come  to  Athabasca  Landing ;  her  interest  in  Sandy  Mc- 
Trigger;  the  mysterious  relationship  that  must  surely 
exist  between  her  and  Inspector  Kedsty;  and,  chiefly, 
her  real  motive  in  coming  to  him  when  she  knew  that 
he  was  dying.  He  comforted  himself  by  the  assur 
ance  that  he  would  have  learned  these  things  had 
she  not  left  him  so  suddenly.  He  had  not  expected 
that. 

The  question  which  seated  itself  most  insistently  in 
his  mind  was,  why  had  she  come?  Was  it,  after  all, 
merely  a  matter  of  curiosity?  Was  her  relationship 
to  Sandy  McTrigger  such  that  inquisitiveness  alone 
had  brought  her  to  see  the  man  who  had  saved  him? 
Surely  she  had  not  been  urged  by  a  sense  of  gratitude, 
for  in  no  way  had  she  given  expression  to  that.  On 
his  death-bed  she  had  almost  made  fun  of  him.  And 
she  could  not  have  come  as  a  messenger  from  Mc 
Trigger,  or  she  would  have  left  her  message.  For  the 
first  time  he  began  to  doubt  that  she  knew  the  man  at 
all,  in  spite  of  the  strange  thing  that  had  happened 
under  O'Connor's  eyes.  But  she  must  know  Kedsty. 
She  had  made  no  answer  to  his  half -accusation  that 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN          ^ 

she  was  hiding1  up  at  the  Inspector's  bungalow.  He 
had  used  that  word — "hiding."  It  should  have  had 
an  effect.  And  she  was  as  beautifully  unconscious  of 
it  as  though  she  had  not  heard  him,  and  he  knew  that 
she  had  heard  him  very  distinctly.  It  was  then  that 
she  had  given  him  that  splendid  view  of  her  amazingly 
long  lashes  and  had  countered  softly, 

"What  if  you  shouldn't  die?" 

Kent  felt  himself  suddenly  aglow  with  an  irresist 
ible  appreciation  of  the  genius  of  her  subtlety,  and 
with  that  appreciation  came  a  thrill  of  deeper  under 
standing.  He  believed  that  he  knew  why  she  had  left 
him  so  suddenly.  It  was  because  she  had  seen  her 
self  close  to  the  danger-line.  There  were  things  which 
she  did  not  want  him  to  know  or  question  her  about, 
and  his  daring  intimation  that  she  was  hiding  in  Ked- 
sty's  bungalow  had  warned  her.  Was  it  possible  that 
Kedsty  himself  had  sent  her  for  some  reason  which 
he  could  not  even  guess  at?  Positively  it  was  not  be 
cause  of  McTrigger,  the  man  he  had  saved.  At  least 
she  would  have  thanked  him  in  some  way.  She  would 
not  have  appeared  quite  so  adorably  cold-blooded, 
quite  so  sweetly  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
dying.  If  McTrigger 's  freedom  had  meant  anything 
to  her,  she  could  not  have  done  less  than  reveal  to  him 
a  bit  of  sympath^r.  And  her  greatest  compliment,  if 
he  excepted  the  kiss,  was  that  she  had  called  him  a 
splendid  liar! 

Kent  grimaced  and  drew  in  a  deep  breath  because 


68         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

of  the  tightness  in  his  chest.  Why  was  it  that  every 
one  seemed  to  disbelieve  him  ?  Why  was  it  that  even 
this  mysterious  girl,  whom  he  had  never  seen  before 
in  his  life,  politely  called  him  a  liar  when  he  insisted 
that  he  had  killed  John  Barkley?  Was  the  fact  of 
murder  necessarily  branded  in  one's  face?  If  so,  he 
had  never  observed  it.  Some  of  the  hardest  criminals 
he  had  brought  in  from  the  down-river  country  were 
likable-looking  men.  There  was  Horrigan,  for  in 
stance,  who  for  seven  long  weeks  kept  him  in  good 
humor  with  his  drollery,  though  he  was  bringing  him 
in  to  be  hanged.  And  there  were  McTab,  and  le  Bete 
Nolr — the  Black  Beast — a  lovable  vagabond  in  spite 
of  his  record,  and  Le  Beau,  the  gentlemanly  robber 
of  the  wilderness  mail,  and  half  a  dozen  others  he 
could  recall  without  any  effort  at  all.  No  one  called 
them  liars  when,  like  real  men,  they  confessed  their 
crimes  when  they  saw  their  game  was  up.  To  a  man 
they  had  given,  up  the  ghost  with  their  boots  on,  and 
Kent  respected  their  memory  because  of  it.  And  he 
was  dying — and  even  this  stranger  girl  called  him  a 
liar !  And  no  case  had  ever  been  more  complete  than 
his  own.  He  had  gone  mercilessly  into  the  condemn 
ing  detail  of  it  all.  It  was  down  in  black  and  white. 
He  had  signed  it.  And  still  he  was  disbelieved.  It 
was  funny,  deuced  funny,  thought  Kent. 

Until  young  Mercer  opened  the  door  and  came  in 
with  his  late  breakfast,  he  had  forgotten  that  he  had 
really  been  hungry  when  he  awakened  with  Cardigan's 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         69 

stethoscope  at  his  chest.  Mercer  had  amused  him 
from  the  first.  The  pink-faced  young  English 
man,  fresh  from  the  old  country,  could  not  conceal 
in  his  face  and  attitude  the  fact  that  he  was  walking 
in  the  presence  of  the  gallows  whenever  he  entered 
the  room.  He  was,  as  he  had  confided  in  Cardigan", 
"beastly  hit  up"  over  the  thing.  To  feed  and  wash 
a  man  who  would  undoubtedly  die,  but  who  would  be 
hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  was  dead  if  he  lived,  filled 
him  with  peculiar  and  at  times  conspicuous  emotions. 
It  was  like  attending  to  a  living  corpse,  if  such  a  thing 
could  be  conceived.  And  Mercer  had  conceived  it. 
Kent  had  come  to  regard  him  as  more  or  less  of  a 
barometer  giving  away  Cardigan's  secrets.  He  had 
not  told  Cardigan,  but  had  kept  the  discovery  for  his 
own  amusement. 

This  morning  Mercer's  face  was  less  pink,  and  his 
pale  eyes  were  paler,  Kent  thought.  Also  he  started 
to  sprinkle  sugar  on  his  eggs  in  place  of  salt. 

Kent  laughed  and  stopped  his  hand.  "You  may 
sugar  my  eggs  when  I'm  dead,  Mercer,"  he  said,  "but 
while  I'm  alive  I  want  salt  on  'em !  Do  you  know,  old 
man,  you  look  bad  this  morning.  Is  it  because  this  is 
my  last  breakfast?" 

"I  hope  not,  sir,  I  hope  not,"  replied  Mercer  quickly. 
"Indeed,  I  hope  you  are  going  to  live,  sir." 

'Thanks!"   said   Kent   dryly.      "Where   is  Cardi 


gan?" 


The  Inspector  sent  a  messenger  for  him,  sir.     I 


70         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

think  he  has  gone  to  see  him.  Are  your  eggs  properly 
done,  sir?" 

"Mercer,  if  you  ever  worked  in  a  butler's  pantry, 
for  the  love  of  heaven  forget  it  now !"  exploded  Kent. 
"I  want  you  to  tell  me  something  straight  out.  How 
long  have  I  got?" 

Mercer  fidgeted  for  a  moment,  and  a  shade  or  two 
more  of  the  red  went  out  of  his  face.  "I  can't  say, 
sir.  Doctor  Cardigan  hasn't  told  me.  But  I  think 
not  very  long,  sir.  Doctor  Cardigan  is  cut  up  all  in 
rags  this  morning.  And  Father  Layonne  is  coming 
to  see  you  at  any  moment." 

"Much  obliged,"  nodded  Kent,  calmly  beginning 
his  second  egg.  "And,  by  the  way,  what  did  you  think 
of  the  young  lady?" 

"Ripping,  positively  ripping!"  exclaimed  Mercer. 

"That's  the  word,"  agreed  Kent.  "Kipping.  It 
sounds  like  the  calico  counter  in  a  dry-goods  store, 
but  means  a  lot.  Don't  happen  to  know  where  she  is 
staying  or  why  she  is  at  the  Landing,  do  you?" 

He  knew  that  he  was  asking  a  foolish  question  and 
scarcely  expected  an  answer  from  Mercer.  He  was 
astonished  when  the  other  said: 

"I  heard  Doctor  Cardigan  ask  her  if  we  might  ex 
pect  her  to  honor  us  with  another  visit,  and  she  told 
him  it  would  be  impossible,  because  she  was  leaving 
on  a  down-river  scow  tonight.  Fort  Simpson,  I  think 
she  said  she  was  going  to,  sir." 

"The  deuce  you  say!"  cried  Kent,  spilling  a  bit  of 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         71 

his  coffee  in  the  thrill  of  the  moment.  "Why,  that's 
where  Staff-Sergeant  O'Connor  is  bound  for !" 

"So  I  heard  Doctor  Cardigan  tell  her.  But  she 
didn't  reply  to  that.  She  just — went.  If  you  don't 
mind  a  little  joke  in  your  present  condition,  sir,  I 
might  say  that  Doctor  Cardigan  was  considerably 
flayed  up  over  her.  A  deuced  pretty  girl,  sir,  deuced 
pretty !  And  I  think  he  was  shot  through !" 

"Now  you're  human,  Mercer.  She  was  pretty, 
wasn't  she?" 

"Er — yes— stunningly  so,  Mr.  Kent/'  agreed  Mer 
cer,  reddening  suddenly  to  the  roots  of  his  pasty, 
blond  hair.  "I  don't  mind  confessing  that  in  this  un 
usual  place  her  appearance  was  quite  upsetting." 

"I  agree  with  you,  friend  Mercer,"  nodded  Kent. 
"She  upset  me.  And — see  here,  old  man! — will  you 
do  a  dying  man  the  biggest  favor  he  ever  asked  in 
his  life?" 

"I  should  be  most  happy,  sir,  most  happy." 

"It's  this,"  said  Kent.  "I  want  to  know  if  that  girl 
actually  leaves  on  the  down-river  scow  tonight.  If 
I'm  alive  tomorrow  morning,  will  you  tell  me?" 

"I  shall  do  my  best,  sir." 

"Good.  It's  simply  the  silly  whim  of  a  dying  man. 
Mercer.  But  I  want  to  be  humored  in  it.  And  I'm 
sensitive — like  yourself.  I  don't  want  Cardigan  to 
know.  There's  an  old  Indian  named  Mooie,  who 
lives  in  a  shack  just  beyond  the  sawmill.  Give  him 
ten  dollars  and  tell  him  there  is  another  ten  in  it  if 


72         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

he  sees  the  business  through,  and  reports  properly  to 
you,  and  keeps  his  mouth  shut  afterward.  Here — 
the  money  is  under  my  pillow." 

Kent  pulled  out  a  wallet  and  put  fifty  dollars  in 
Mercer's  hands. 

"Buy  cigars  with  the  rest  of  it,  old  man.  It's  of 
no  more  use  to  me.  And  this  little  trick  you  are  going 
to  pull  off  is  worth  it.  It's  my  last  fling  on  earth,  you 
might  say." 

"Thank  you,  sir.     It  is  very  kind  of  you." 

Mercer  belonged  to  a  class  of  wandering  English 
men  typical  of  the  Canadian  West,  the  sort  that  some 
times  made  real  Canadians  wonder  why  a  big  and 
glorious  country  like  their  own  should  cling  to  the 
mother  country.  Ingratiating  and  obsequiously  polite 
at  all  times,  he  gave  one  the  impression  of  having  had 
splendid  training  as  a  servant,  yet  had  this  intimation- 
been  made  to  him,  he  would  have  become  highly  in 
dignant.  Kent  had  learned  their  ways  pretty  well. 
He  had  met  them  in  all  sorts  of  places,  for  one  of  their 
inexplicable  characteristics  was  the  recklessness  and 
apparent  lack  of  judgment  with  which  they  located 
themselves.  Mercer,  for  instance,  should  have  held 
a  petty  clerical  job  of  some  kind  in  a  city,  and  here 
he  was  acting  as  nurse  in  the  heart  of  a  wilderness! 

After  Mercer  had  gone  with  the  breakfast  things  and 
the  money,  Kent  recalled  a  number  of  his  species.  And* 
he  knew  that  under  their  veneer  of  apparent  servility 
was  a  thing  of  courage  and  daring  which  needed  only 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         73 

the  right  kind  of  incentive  to  rouse  it.  And  when 
roused,  it  was  peculiarly  efficient  in  a  secretive,  artful- 
dodger  sort  of  way.  It  would  not  stand  up  before  a 
gun.  But  it  would  creep  under  the  mouths  of  guns 
on  a  black  night.  And  Kent  was  positive  his  fifty 
dollars  would  bring  him  results — if  he  lived. 

Just  why  he  wanted  the  information  he  was  after, 
he  could  not  have  told  himself.  It  was  a  pet  aphorism 
between  O'Connor  and  him  that  they  had  often  trav 
eled  to  success  on  the  backs  of  their  hunches.  And 
his  proposition  to  Mercer  was  made  on  the  spur  of 
one  of  those  moments  when  the  spirit  of  a  hunch 
possessed  him.  His  morning  had  been  one  of  unex 
pected  excitement,  and  now  he  leaned  back  in  an 
effort  to  review  it  and  to  forget,  if  he  could,  the  dis 
tressing  thing  that  was  bound  to  happen  to  him  within 
the  next  few  hours.  But  he  could  not  get  away  from 
the  thickening  in  his  chest.  It  seemed  growing  on 
him.  Now  and  then  he  was  compelled  to  make  quite 
an  effort  to  get  sufficient  air  into  his  lungs. 

He  found  himself  wondering  if  there  was  a  possi 
bility  that  the  girl  might  return.  For  a  long  time 
he  lay  thinking  about  her,  and  it  struck  him  as  in 
congruous  and  in  bad  taste  that  fate  should  have  left 
this  adventure  for  his  last.  If  he  had  met  her  six 
months  ago — or  even  three — it  was  probable  that  she 
would  so  have  changed  the  events  of  life  for  him  that 
he  would  not  have  got  the  half-breed's  bullet  in  his 
chest.  He  confessed  the  thing  unblushingly.  The 


:74         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

wilderness  had  taken  the  place  of  woman  for  him. 
It  had  claimed  him,  body  and  soul.  He  had  desired 
nothing  beyond  its  wild  freedom  and  its  never-ending 
games  of  chance.  He  had  dreamed,  as  every  man 
dreams,  but  realities  and  not  the  dreams  had  been  the 
red  pulse  of  his  life.  And  yet,  if  this  girl  had  come 
sooner 

He  revisioned  for  himself  over  and  over  again  her 
hair  and  eyes,  the  slimness  of  her  as  she  had  stood  at 
the  window,  the  freedom  and  strength  of  that  slender 
body,  the  poise  of  her  exquisite  head,  and  he  feit  again 
the  thrill  of  her  hand  and  the  still  more  wonderful 
thrill  of  her  lips  as  she  had  pressed  them  warmly  upon 
his. 

And  she  was  of  the  North!  That  was  the  thought 
that  overwhelmed  him.  He  did  not  permit  himself  to 
believe  that  she  might  have  told  him  an  untruth.  He 
was  confident,  if  he  lived  until  tomorrow,  that  Mercer 
would  corroborate  his  faith  in  her.  He  had  never 
heard  of  a  place  called  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men,  but 
it  was  a  big  country,  and  Fort  Simpson  with  its  Hud 
son  Bay  Company's  post  and  its  half-dozen  shacks 
was  a  thousand  miles  away.  He  was  not  sure  that 
such  a  place  as  that  valley  really  existed.  It  was 
easier  to  believe  that  the  girl's  home  was  at  Fort 
Providence,  Fort  Simpson,  Fort  Good  Hope,  or  even 
at  Fort  McPherson.  It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to 
picture  her  as  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  factor  lords 
of  the  North.  Yet  this,  upon  closer  consideration,  he 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         75 

gave  up  as  unreasonable.  The  word  "Fort"  did  not 
stand  for  population,  and  there  were  probably  not 
more  than  fifty  white  people  at  all  the  posts  between  the 
Great  Slave  and  the  Arctic.  She  was  not  one  of  these, 
or  the  fact  would  have  been  known  at  the  Landing. 

Neither  could  she  be  a  riverman's  daughter,  for  it 
was  inconceivable  that  either  a  riverman  or  a  trapper 
would  have  sent  this  girl  down  into  civilization,  where 
this  girl  had  undoubtedly  been.  It  was  that  point 
chiefly  which  puzzled  Kent.  She  was  not  only  beauti 
ful.  She  had  been  tutored  in  schools  that  were  not 
taught  by  wilderness  missioners.  In  her,  it  seemed 
to  him,  he  had  seen  the  beauty  and  the  wild  freedom 
of  the  forests  as  they  had  come  to  him  straight  out 
of  the  heart  of  an  ancient  aristocracy  that  was  born 
nearly  two  hundred  years  ago  in  the  old  cities  of 
Quebec  and  Montreal. 

His  mind  flashed  back  at  that  thought:  he  remem 
bered  the  time  when  he  had  sought  out  every  nook  and 
cranny  of  that  ancient  town  of  Quebec,  and  had  stood 
over  graves  two  centuries  old,  and  deep  in  his  soul  had 
envied  the  dead  the  lives  they  had  lived.  He  had  al 
ways  thought  of  Quebec  as  a  rare  old  bit  of  tirne- 
yellowed  lace  among  cities — the  heart  of  the  New 
World  as  it  had  once  been,  still  beating,  still  whisper 
ing  of  its  one-time  power,  still  living  in  the  memory 
of  its  mellowed  romance,  its  almost  forgotten  trage 
dies — a  ghost  that  lived,  that  still  beat  back  defiantly 
the  destroying  modernism  that  would  desecrate  its 


;6         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

sacred  things.  And  it  pleased  him  to  think  of  Marette 
Radisson  as  the  spirit  of  it,  wandering  north,  and 
still  farther  north — even  as  the  spirits  of  the  profaned 
dead  had  risen  from  the  Landing  to  go  farther  on. 

And  feeling  that  the  way  had  at  last  been  made  easy 
for  him,  Kent  smiled  out  into  the  glorious  day  and 
whispered  softly,  as  if  she  were  standing  there,  lis 
tening  to  him : 

"If  I  had  lived — I  would  have  called  you — my 
Quebec.  It's  pretty,  that  name.  It  stands  for  a  lot. 
And  so  clo  you." 

And  out  in  the  hall,  as  Kent  whispered  those  words, 
stood  Father  Layonne,  with  a  face  that  was  whiter 
than  the  mere  presence  of  death  had  ever  made  it  be 
fore.  At  his  side  stood  Cardigan,  aged  ten  years  since 
he  had  placed  his  stethoscope  at  Kent's  chest  that 
morning.  And  behind  these  two  were  Kedsty,  with 
a  face  like  gray  rock,  and  young  Mercer,  in  whose 
staring  eyes  was  the  horror  of  a  thing  he  could  not 
yet  quite  comprehend.  Cardigan  made  an  effort  to 
speak  and  failed.  Kedsty  wiped  his  forehead,  as  he 
had  wiped  it  the  morning  of  Kent's  confession.  And 
Father  Layonne,  as  he  went  to  Kent's  door,  was 
breathing  softly  to  himself  a  prayer. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FROM  the  window,  the  glorious  day  outside,  and  the 
vision  he  had  made  for  himself  of  Marette  Radis- 
son,  Kent  turned  at  the  sound  of  a  hand  at  his  door 
and  saw  it  slowly  open.  He  was  expecting  it.  He  had 
read  young  Mercer  like  a  book.  Mercer's  nervous 
ness  and  the  increased  tightening  of  the  thing  in  his 
chest  had  given  him  warning.  The  thing  was  going 
to  happen  soon,  and  Father  Layonne  had  come.  He 
tried  to  smile,  that  he  might  greet  his  wilderness  friend 
cheerfully  and  unafraid.  But  the  smile  froze  when 
the  door  opened  and  he  saw  the  missioner  standing 
there. 

More  than  once  he  had  accompanied  Father  Lay 
onne  over  the  threshold  of  life  into  the  presence  of 
death,  but  he  had  never  before  seen  in  his  face  what 
he  saw  there  now.  He  stared.  The  missioner  remained 
in  the  doorway,  hesitating,  as  if  at  the  last  moment  a 
great  fear  held  him  back.  For  an  interval  the  eyes  of 
the  two  men  rested  upon  each  other  in  a  silence  that 
was  like  the  grip  of  a  living  thing.  Then  Father  Lay 
onne  came  quietly  into  the  room  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

Kent  drew  a  deep  breath  and  tried  to  grin.  "You 
woke  me  out  of  a  dream,"  he  said,  "a  day-dream.  I've 

77 


;3         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

had  a  very  pleasant  experience  this  morning,  won 
pere." 

"So  some  one  was  trying  to  tell  me,  Jimmy,"  re 
plied  the  little  missioner  with  an  effort  to  smile  back. 

"Mercer?" 

"Yes.  He  told  me  about  it  confidentially.  The 
poor  boy  must  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  young 
lady." 

"So  have  I,  mon  p£re.  I  don't  mind  confessing  it 
to  you.  I'm  rather  glad.  And  if  Cardigan  hadn't 
scheduled  me  to  die " 

"Jimmy/'  interrupted  the  missioner  quickly,  but  a 
bit  huskily,  "has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  Doctor 
Cardigan  may  be  mistaken?" 

He  had  taken  one  of  Kent's  hands.  His  grip  tight 
ened.  It  began  to  hurt.  And  Kent,  looking  into  his 
eyes,  found  his  brain  all  at  once  like  a  black  room 
suddenly  illuminated  by  a  flash  of  fire.  Drop  by  drop 
the  blood  went  out  of  his  face  until  it  was  whiter  than 
Father  Layonne's. 

"You — you  don't — mean " 

"Yes,  yes,  boy,  I  mean  just  that/'  said  the  mis 
sioner,  in  a  voice  so  strange  that  it  did  not  seem  to 
be  his  own.  "You  are  not  going  to  die,  Jimmy.  You 
are  going  to  live!" 

"Live!"  Kent  dropped  back  against  his  pillows. 
"Live!"  His  lips  gasped  the  one  word. 

He  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  world  was  aflame.  And  he  reneated 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         79 

the  word  again,  but  only  his  lips  formed  it,  and  there 
came  no  sound.  His  senses,  strained  to  the  breaking- 
point  to  meet  the  ordeal  of  death,  gave  way  slowly 
to  the  mighty  reaction.  He  felt  in  those  moments 
like  a  reeling  man.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  there 
was  a  meaningless  green  haze  through  the  window 
where  the  world  should  have  been.  But  he  heard 
Father  Layonne's  voice.  It  seemed  a  great  distance 
off,  but  it  was  very  clear.  Doctor  Cardigan  had  made 
an  error,  it  was  saying.  And  Doctor  Cardigan,  be 
cause  of  that  error,  was  like  a  man  whose  heart  had 
been  taken  out  of  him.  But  it  was  an  excusable  error. 

If  there  had  been  an  X-ray But  there  had  been 

none.  And  Doctor  Cardigan  had  made  the  diagnosis 
that  nine  out  of  ten  good  surgeons  would  probably 
have  made.  What  he  had  taken  to  be  the  aneurisrnal 
blood-rush  was  an  exaggerated  heart  murmur,  and  the 
increased  thickening  in  his  chest  was  a  simple  com 
plication  brought  about  by  too  much  night  air.  It 
was  too  bad  the  error  had  happened.  But  he  must  not 
blame  Cardigan! 

He  must  not  blame  Cardigan!  Those  last  words 
pounded  like  an  endless  series  of  little  waves  in  Kent's 
brain.  He  must  not  blame  Cardigan!  He  laughed, 
laughed  before  his  dazed  senses  readjusted  themselves, 
before  the  world  through  the  window  pieced  itself  into 
shape  again.  At  least  he  thought  he  was  laughing. 
He  must — not — blame — Cardigan!  What  an  amaz 
ingly  stupid  thing  for  Father  Layonne  to  say!  Blame 


So         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Cardigan  for  giving  him  back  his  life?  Blame  him 
for  the  glorious  knowledge  that  he  was  not  going  to 
die  ?  Blame  him  for 

Things  were  coming  clearer.  Like  a  bolt  slipping 
into  its  groove  his  brain  found  itself.  He  saw  Fathef 
Layonne  again,  with  his  white,  tense  face  and  eyes 
in  which  were  still  seated  the  fear  and  the  horror  he 
had  seen  in  the  doorway.  It  was  not  until  then  that 
he  gripped  fully  at  the  truth. 

"I — I  see,"  he  said.  "You  and  Cardigan  think  it 
would  have  been  better  if  I  had  died!" 

The  missioner  was  still  holding  his  hand.  "I  don't 
know,  Jimmy,  I  don't  know.  What  has  happened  is 
terrible/' 

"But  not  so  terrible  as  death/'  cried  Kent,  suddenly 
growing  rigid  against  his  pillows.  "Great  God,  mon 
p$re,  I  want  to  live !  Oh " 

He  snatched  his  hand  free  and  stretched  forth  both 
arms  to  the  open  window.  "Look  at  it  out  there !  My 
world  again!  My  world!  I  want  to  go  back  to  it. 
It's  ten  times  more  precious  to  me  now  than  it  was. 
Why  should  I  blame  Cardigan?  Mon  pere — mon 
fere — listen  to  me.  I  can  say  it  now,  because  I've  got 
a  right  to  say  it.  /  lied.  I  didn't  kill  John  Barkley!" 

A  strange  cry  fell  from  Father  Layonne's  lips.  It 
was  a  choking  cry,  a  cry,  not  of  rejoicing,  but  of  a 
grief-stung  thing.  "Jimmy!" 

"I  swear  it!  Great  heaven,  mon  pere,  don't  you 
believe  me?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         81 

The  missioner  had  risen.  In  his  eyes  and  face  wa.3 
another  look.  It  was  as  if  in  all  his  life  he  had  never 
seen  James  Kent  before.  It  was  a  look  born  sud 
denly  of  shock,  the  shock  of  amazement,  of  incredul 
ity,  of  a  new  kind  of  horror.  Then  swiftly  again  his 
countenance  changed,  and  he  put  a  hand  on  Kent's 
head. 

"God  forgive  you,  Jimmy,"  he  said.  "And  God  help 
you,  too!" 

Where  a  moment  before  Kent  had  felt  the  hot  throb 
of  an  inundating  joy,  his  heart  was  chilled  now  by 
the  thing  he  sensed  in  Father  Layonne's  voice  and 
saw  in  his  face  and  eyes.  It  was  not  entirely  dis 
belief.  It  was  a  more  hopeless  thing  than  that. 

"You  do  not  believe  me!"  he  said. 

"It  is  my  religion  to  believe,  Jimmy,"  replied  Father 
Layonne  in  a  gentle  voice  into  which  the  old  calm 
ness  had  returned.  "I  must  believe,  for  your  sake.  But 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  human  sentiment  now,  lad.  It  is 
the  Law!  Whatever  my  heart  feels  toward  you  can 

do  you  no  good.  You  are "  He  hesitated  to 

speak  the  words. 

Then  it  was  that  Kent  saw  fully  and  clearly  the 
whole  monstrous  situation.  It  had  taken  time  for  it 
to  fasten  itself  upon  him.  In  a  general  way  it  had 
been  clear  to  him  a  few  moments  before;  now,  detail 
by  detail,  it  closed  in  upon  him,  and  his  muscles  tight 
ened,  and  Father  Layonne  saw  his  jaw  set  hard  and 
his  hands  clench.  Death  was  gone.  But  the  mockery 


82         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

of  it,  the  grim  exultation  of  the  thing  over  the  colossal 
trick  it  had  played,  seemed  to  din  an  infernal  laughter 
in  his  ears.  But — he  was  going  to  live!  That  was 
the  one  fact  that  rose  above  all  others.  No  matter 
what  happened  to  him  a  month  or  six  months  from 
now,  he  was  not  going  to  die  today.  He  would  live  to 
receive  Mercer's  report.  He  would  live  to  stand  on 
his  feet  again  and  to  fight  for  the  life  which  he  had 
thrown  away.  He  was,  above  everything  else,  a  fight 
ing  man.  It  was  born  in  him  to  fight,  not  so  much 
against  his  fellow  men  as  against  the  overwhelming 
odds  of  adventure  as  they  came  to  him.  And  now 
he  was  up  against  the  deadliest  game  of  all.  He  saw 
it.  He  felt  it.  The  thing  gripped  him.  In  the  eyes 
of  that  Law  of  which  he  had  so  recently  been  a  part 
he  was  a  murderer.  And  in  the  province  of  Alberta 
the  penalty  for  killing  a  man  was  hanging.  Because 
horror  and  fear  did  not  seize  upon  him,  he  wondered 
if  he  still  realized  the  situation.  He  believed  that  he 
did.  It  was  merely  a  matter  of  human  nature.  Death, 
he  had  supposed,  was  a  fixed  and  foregone  thing.  He 
had  believed  that  only  a  few  hours  of  life  were  left 
for  him.  And  now  it  was  given  back  to  him,  for 

months  at  least.    It  was  a.  glorious -reprieve,  and 

Suddenly  his  heart  stood  still  in  the  thrill  of  the 
thought  that  came  to  him.  Marette  Radisson  had 
known  that  he  was  not  going  to  die !  She  had  hinted 
the  fact,  and  he,  like  a  blundering  idiot,  had  failed  to 
catch  the  significance  of  it.  She  had  given  him.  no 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         83 

sympathy,  had  laughed  at  him,  had  almost  made  fun 
of  him,  simply  because  she  knew  that  he  was  going 
to  live ! 

He  turned  suddenly  on  Father  Layonne. 

"They  shall  believe  me!"  he  cried.  "I  shall  make 
them  believe  me!  Mon  pere,  I  lied!  I  lied  to  save 
Sandy  McTrigger,  and  I  shall  tell  them  why.  If 
Doctor  Cardigan  has  not  made  another  mistake,  I 
want  them  all  here  again.  Will  you  arrange  it?" 

"Inspector  Kedsty  is  waiting  outside,"  said  Father 
Layonne  quietly,  "but  I  should  not  act  in  haste,  Jim 
my.  I  should  wait.  I  should  think — think." 

"You  mean  take  time  to  think  up  a  story  that  will 
hold  water,  mon  peref  I  have  that.  I  have  the  story, 

And  yet "  He  smiled  a  bit  dismally.  "I  did  make 

one  pretty  thorough  confession,  didn't  I,  Father?" 

"It  was  very  convincing,  Jimmy.  It  went  so  par 
ticularly  into  the  details,  and  those  details,  coupled 
with  the  facts  that  you  were  seen  at  John  Barkley's 
earlier  in  the  evening,  and  that  it  was  you  who  found 
him  dead  a  number  of  hours  later " 

"All  make  a  strong  case  against  me,"  agreed  Kent 
"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  up  at  Barkley's  to  look 
over  an  old  map  he  had  made  of  the  Porcupine  coun 
try  twenty  years  ago.  He  couldn't  find  it.  Later  he 
sent  word  he  had  run  across  it.  I  returned  and  found 
him  dead." 

The  little  missioner  nodded,  but  did  not  speak. 

"It  is  embarrassing,"  Kent  went  on.     "It  almost 


84         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

seems  as  though  I  ought  to  go  through  with  it,  like 
a  sport.  When  a  man  loses,  it  isn't  good  taste  to  set 
up  a  howl.  It  makes  him  sort  of  yellow-backed,  you 
know.  To  play  the  game  according  to  rules,  I  sup 
pose  I  ought  to  keep  quiet  and  allow  myself  to  be 
hurg  without  making  any  disturbance.  Die  game,  and 
all  that,  you  know.  Then  there  is  the  other  way  of 
looking  at  it.  This  poor  neck  of  mine  depends  on 
me.  It  has  given  me  a  lot  of  good  service.  It  has 
been  mighty  loyal.  It  has  even  swallowed  eggs  on  the 
day  it  thought  it  was  going  to  die.  And  I'd  be  a  poor 
specimen  of  humanity  to  go  back  on  it  now.  I  want 
to  do  that  neck  a  good  turn.  I  want  to  save  it.  And 
I'm  going  to — if  I  can!" 

In  spite  of  the  unpleasant  tension  of  the  moment, 
it  cheered  Father  Layonne  to  see  this  old  humor  re 
turning  into  the  heart  of  his  friend.  With  him  love 
was  an  enduring  thing.  He  might  grieve  for  James 
Kent,  he  might  pray  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul,  he 
might  believe  him  guilty,  yet  he  still  bore  for  him 
the  affection  which  was  too  deeply  rooted  in  his  heart 
to  be  uptorn  by  physical  things  or  the  happenings  of 
chance.  So  the  old  cheer  of  his  smile  came  back,  and 
he  said: 

"To  fight  for  his  life  is  a  privilege  which  God  gives 
to  every  man,  Jimmy.  I  was  terrified  when  I  came 
to  you.  I  believed  it  would  have  been  better  if  you 
had  died.  I  can  see  my  error.  It  will  be  a  terrible 
fight.  If  you  win,  I  shall  be  glad.  If  you  lose,  I 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         8< 

know  that  you  will  lose  bravely.  Perhaps  you  are 
right.  It  may  be  best  to  see  Inspector  Kedsty  before 
you  have  had  time  to  think.  That  point  will  have  its 
psychological  effect.  Shall  I  tell  him  you  are  pre 
pared  to  see  him?" 

Kent  nodded.     "Yes.     Now." 

Father  Layonne  went  to  the  door.  Even  there  he 
seemed  to  hesitate  an  instant,  as  if  again  to  call  upon 
Kent  to  reconsider.  Then  he  opened  it  and  went  out. 

Kent  waited  impatiently.  His  hand,  fumbling  at 
his  bedclothes,  seized  upon  the  cloth  with  which  he 
had  wiped  his  lips,  and  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  it  had  been  a  long  time  since  it  had  shown  a 
fresh  stain  of  blood.  Now  that  he  knew  it  was  not 
a  deadly  thing,  the  tightening  in  his  chest  was  less  un 
comfortable.  He  felt  like  getting  up  and  meeting  his 
visitors  on  his  feet.  Every  nerve  in  his  body  wanted 
action,  and  the  minutes  of  silence  which  followed  the 
closing  of  the  door  after  the  missioner  were  drawn 
out  and  tedious  to  him.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed 
before  he  heard  returning  footsteps,  and  by  the  sound 
of  them  he  knew  Kedsty  was  not  coming  alone.  Prob 
ably  le  pere  would  return  with  him.  And  possibly 
Cardigan. 

What  happened  in  the  next  few  seconds  was  some 
what  of  a  shock  to  him.  Father  Layonne  entered  first, 
and  then  came  Inspector  Kedsty.  Kent's  eyes  shot  to 
the  face  of  the  commander  of  N  Division.  There  was 
scarcely  recognition  in  it.  A  mere  inclination  of  the 


£o         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

head,  not  enough  to  call  a  greeting,  was  the  reply  to 
Kent's  nod  and  salute.  Never  had  he  seen  Kedsty's 
face  more  like  the  face  of  an  emotionless  sphinx.  Ik"1, 
what  disturbed  him  most  was  the  presence  of  people 
he  had  not  expected.  Close  behind  Kedsty  was  Mc- 
Dougal,  the  magistrate,  and  behind  McDougal  entered 
Constables  Pelly  and  Brant,  stiffly  erect  and  clearly  un 
der  orders.  Cardigan,  pale  and  uneasy,  came  in  last, 
with  the  stenographer.  Scarcely  had  they  entered  the 
room  when  Constable  Pelly  pronounced  the  formal 
warning  of  the  Criminal  Code  of  the  Royal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police,  and  Kent  was  legally  under  arrest. 

He  had  not  looked  for  this.  He  knew,  of  course, 
that  the  process  of  the  Law  would  take  its  course,  but 
he  had  not  anticipated  this  bloodthirsty  suddenness. 
He  had  expected,  first  of  all,  to  talk  with  Kedsty  as 
man  to  man.  And  yet — it  was  the  Law.  He  realized 
this  as  his  eyes  traveled  from  Kedsty's  rock-like  face 
to  the  expressionless  immobility  of  his  old  friends, 
Constables  Pelly  and  Brant.  If  there  was  sympathy, 
it  was  hidden  except  in  the  faces  of  Cardigan  and 
Father  Layonne.  And  Kent,  exultantly  hopeful  a  lit 
tle  while  before,  felt  his  heart  grew  heavy  within  him 
as  he  waited  for  the  moment  when  he  would  begin  the 
fight  to  repossess  himself  of  the  life  and  freed 
which  he  had  lost. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         89 

that  he  was  playing  a  game,  and  his  direct  accusation 
that  he  was  keeping  Marette  Radisson  in  hiding  at  his 
bungalow,  seemed  to  have  no  disturbing  effect  on  him. 
For  a  space  he  looked  at  Kent,  as  if  measuring  the 
poise  of  the  other's  mind.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  in 
a  voice  so  quiet  and  calm  that  Kent  stared  at  him  in 
amazement. 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Kent,"  he  said.  "I  don't  blame 
you  for  calling  me  a  scoundrel,  or  anything  else  you 
want  to.  I  think  I  should  do  the  same  if  I  were  in 
your  place.  You  think  it  is  incredible,  because  of  our 
previous  association,  that  I  should  not  make  every 
effort  to  save  you.  I  would,  if  I  thought  you  were 
innocent.  But  I  don't.  I  believe  you  are  guilty.  I 
cannot  see  where  there  is  a  loophole  in  the  evidence 
against  you,  as  given  in  your  own  confession,  Why, 
man,  even  if  I  could  help  to  prove  you  innocent  of 
killing  John  Barkley " 

He  paused  and  twisted  one  of  his  gray  mustaches, 
half  facing  the  window  for  a  moment.  "Even  if  I 
did  that,"  he  went  on,  "you  would  still  have  twenty 
years  of  prison  ahead  of  you  for  the  worst  kind  of 
perjury  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  perjury  committed 
at  a  time  when  you  thought  you  were  dying!  You 
are  guilty.  Kent.  If  not  of  one  thing,  then  of  the 
other.  I  am  not  playing  a  game.  And  as  for  the 
girl — there  is  no  girl  at  my  bungalow." 

He  turned  to  the  door;  and  Kent  made  no  effort  to 
stop  him.  Words  came  to  his  lips  and  died  there,  and 


90         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

for  a  space  after  Kedsty  had  gone  he  stared  out  into 
the  green  forest  world  beyond  his  window,  seeing 
nothing.  Inspector  Kedsty,  quietly  and  calmly,  had 
spoken  words  that  sent  his  hopes  crashing  in  ruin 
about  him.  For  even  if  he  escaped  the  hangman,  he 
was  still  a  criminal — a  criminal  of  the  worst  sort, 
perhaps,  next  to  the  man  who  kills  another.  If  he 
proved  that  he  had  not  killed  John  Barkley,  he  would 
convict  himself,  at  the  same  time,  of  having  made 
solemn  oath  to  a  lie  on  what  he  supposed  was  his 
death-bed.  And  for  that,  a  possible  twenty  years  in 
the  Edmonton  penitentiary!  At  best  he  could  not  ex 
pect  less  than  ten.  Ten  years — twenty  years — in  pris 
on!  That,  or  hang. 

The  sweat  broke  out  on  his  face.  He  did  not  curse 
Kedsty  now.  His  anger  was  gone.  Kedsty  had  seen 
all  the  time  what  he,  like  a  fool,  had  not  thought  of. 
No  matter  how  the  Inspector  might  feel  in  that  deeply 
buried  heart  of  his,  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than  he 
was  doing.  He,  James  Kent,  who  hated  a  lie  above 
all  the  things  on  the  earth,  was  kin-as-kisew — the 
blackest  liar  of  all,  a  man  who  lied  when  he  was  dying. 

And  for  that  lie  there  was  a  great  punishment.  The 
Law  saw  with  its  own  eyes.  It  was  a  single-track 
affair,  narrow-visioned,  caring  nothing  for  what  was 
to  the  right  or  the  left.  It  would  tolerate  no  excuse 
which  he  might  find  for  himself.  He  had  lied  to  save 
a  human  life,  but  that  life  the  Law  itself  had  wanted. 
So  he  had  both  robbed  and  outraged  the  Law,  even 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         91 

tTiough  a  miracle  saved  him  the  greatest  penalty  of  all. 

The  weight  of  the  thing  crushed  him.  It  was  as  if 
for  the  first  time  a  window  had  opened  for  him,  and 
he  saw  what  Kedsty  had  seen.  And  then,  as  the  min 
utes  passed,  the  fighting  spirit  in  him  rose  again.  He 
was  not  of  the  sort  to  go  under  easily.  Personal 
danger  had  always  stirred  him  to  his  greatest  depths, 
and  he  had  never  confronted  a  danger  greater  than 
this  he  was  facing  now.  It  was  not  a  matter  of 
leaping  quickly  and  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  For 
ten  years  his  training  had  been  that  of  a  hunter  of 
men,  and  the  psychology  of  the  man  hunt  had  been  his 
strong  point.  Always,  in  seeking  his  quarry,  he  had 
tried  first  to  bring  himself  into  a  mental  sympathy 
and  understanding  with  that  quarry.  To  analyze  what 
an  outlaw  would  do  under  certain  conditions  and  wi!.a 
certain  environments  and  racial  inheritances  behind 
him  was  to  Kent  the  premier  move  in  the  thrilling 
game.  He  had  evolved  rules  of  great  importance  for 
himself,  but  always  he  had  worked  them  out  from  the 
vantage  point  of  the  huntsman.  Now  he  began  to 
turn  them  around.  He,  James  Kent,  was  no  longer 
the  hunter,  but  the  hunted,  and  all  the  tricks  which 
he  had  mastered  must  now  be  worked  the  other  way. 
His  woodcraft,  his  cunning,  the  fine  points  he  had 
learned  of  the  game  of  one-against-one  would  avail 
him  but  little  when  it  came  to  the  witness  chair  and 
a  trial. 

The  open  window  was  his  first  inspiration.     Ad- 


92         THE  VALLEY  OP  SILENT  MEN 

venture  had  been  the  blood  of  his  life.  And  out  there, 
behind  the  green  forests  rolling  away  like  the  billows 
of  an  ocean,  lay  the  greatest  adventure  of  all.  Once 
in  those  beloved  forests  covering  almost  the  half  of  a 
continent,  he  would  be  willing  to  die  if  the  world  beat 
him.  He  could  see  himself  playing  the  game  of  the 
hunted  as  no  other  man  had  ever  played  it  before.  Let 
him  once  have  his  guns  and  his  freedom,  with  all  that 
world  waiting  for  him 

Eagerness  gleamed  in  his  eyes,  and  then,  slowly,  it 
died  out.  The  open  window,  after  all,  was  but  a  mock 
ery.  He  rolled  sideways  from  his  bed  and  partly  bal 
anced  himself  on  his  feet.  The  effort  made  him  dizzy. 
He  doubted  if  he  could  have  walked  a  hundred  yards 
after  climbing  through  the  window.  Instantly  an 
other  thought  leaped  into  his  brain.  His  head  was 
clearing.  He  swayed  across  the  room  and  back  again, 
the  first  time  he  had  been  on  his  feet  since  the  half- 
breed's  bullet  had  laid  him  out.  He  would  fool  Cardi 
gan.  He  would  fool  Kedsty.  As  he  recovered  his 
strength,  he  would  keep  it  to  himself.  He  would  play 
sick  man  to  the  limit,  and  then  some  night  he  would 
take  advantage  of  the  open  window! 

The  thought  thrilled  him  as  no  other  thing  in  the 
world  had  ever  thrilled  him  before.  For  the  first  time 
he  sensed  the  vast  difference  between  the  hunter  and 
the  hunted,  between  the  man  who  played  the  game  of 
life  and  death  alone  and  the  one  who  played  it  with  the 
Law  and  all  its  might  behind  him.  To  hunt  was  thrill- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         93 

ing.  To  be  hunted  was  more  thrilling.  Every 
nerve  in  his  body  tingled.  A  different  kind 
of  fire  burned  in  his  brain.  He  was  the  creature 
who  was  at  bay.  The  other  fellow  was  the  hunter  now. 
He  went  back  to  the  window  and  leaned  far 
out.  He  looked  at  the  forest  and  saw  it  with  new 
eyes.  The  gleam  of  the  slowly  moving  river  held  a 
meaning  for  him  that  it  had  never  held  before.  Doctor 
Cardigan,  seeing  him  then,  would  have  sworn  the 
fever  had  returned.  His  eyes  held  a  slumbering  fire. 
His  face  was  flushed.  In  these  moments  Kent  did  not 
see  death.  He  was  not  visioning  the  iron  bars  of  a 
prison.  His  blood  pulsed  only  to  the  stir  of  that  great 
est  of  all  adventures  which  lay  ahead  of  him.  He, 
the  best  man-hunter  in  two  thousand  miles  of  wilder 
ness,  would  beat  the  hunters  themselves.  The  hound 
had  turned  fox,  and  that  fox  knew  the  tricks  of  both 
the  hunter  and  the  hunted.  He  would  win !  A  world 
beckoned  to  him,  and  he  would  reach  the  heart  of  that 
world.  Already  there  began  to  flash  through  his  mind 
memory  of  the  places  where  he  could  find  safety  and 
freedom  for  all  time.  No  man  in  all  the  Northland 
knew  its  out-of-the-way  corners  better  than  he — its 
unmapped  and  unexplored  places,  the  far  and  mys 
terious  patches  of  terra  incognita,  where  the  sun  still 
rose  and  set  without  permission  of  the  Law,  and  God 
laughed  as  in  the  days  when  prenistoric  monsters  fed 
from  the  tops  of  trees  no  taller  than  themselves.  Once 
through  that  window,  with  the  strength  to  travel, 


94         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

and  the  Law  might  seek  him  for  a  hundred  years  with 
out  profit  to  itself. 

It  was  not  bravado  in  his  blood  that  stirred  these 
thoughts.  It  was  not  panic  or  an  unsound  excitement, 
He  was  measuring  things  even  as  he  visioned  them. 
He  would  go  down-river  way,  toward  the  Arctic.  And 
he  would  find  Marette  Radisson!  Yes,  even  though 
she  lived  at  Barracks  at  Fort  Simpson,  he  would  find 
her !  And  after  that  ?  The  question  blurred  all  other 
questions  in  his  mind.  There  were  many  answers  to  it. 

Knowing  that  it  would  be  fatal  to  his  scheme  if  he 
were  found  on  his  feet,  he  returned  to  his  bed.  The 
flush  of  his  exertion  and  'excitement  was  still  in  his 
face  when  Doctor  Cardigan  came  half  an  hour  later. 

Within  the  next  few  minutes  he  put  Cardigan  more 
at  his  ease  than  he  had  been  during  the  preceding  day 
and  night.  It  was,  after  all,  an  error  which  made  him 
happier  the  more  he  thought  about  it,  he  told  the  sur 
geon.  He  admitted  that  at  first  the  discovery  that  he 
was  going  to  live  had  horrified  him.  But  now  the 
whole  thing  bore  a  different  aspect  for  him.  As  soon 
as  he  was  sufficiently  strong,  he  would  begin  gathering 
the  evidences  for  his  alibi,  and  he  was  confident  of 
proving  himself  innocent  of  John  Barklcy's  murder. 

He  anticipated  ten  years  in  the  Edmonton  peniten 
tiary.  But  what  were  ten  years  there  as  compared 
with  forty  or  fifty  under  the  sod?  He  wrung  Cardi 
gan's  hand.  He  thanked  him  for  the  splendid  care 
he  had  given  him.  It  was  he,  Cardigan,  who  had 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         95 

saved  him  from  the  grave,  he  said — and  Cardigan 
grew  younger  under  his  eyes. 

"I  thought  you'd  look  at  it  differently,  Kent,"  he 
said,  drawing  in  a  deep  breath.  "My  God,  when  I 
found  I  had  made  that  mistake " 

"You  figured  you  were  handing  me  over  to  the 
hangman,"  smiled  Kent.  "It's  true  I  shouldn't  have 
made  that  confession,  old  man,  if  I  hadn't  rated  you 
right  next  to  God  Almighty  when  it  came  to  telling 
whether  a  man  was  going  to  live  or  die.  But  we  all 
make  slips.  I've  made  'em.  And  you've  got  no  apology 
to  make.  I  may  ask  you  to  send  me  good  cigars  now 
and  then  while  I'm  in  retirement  at  Edmonton,  and  I 
shall  probably  insist  that  you  come  to  smoke  with  me 
occasionally  and  tell  me  the  news  of  the  rivers.  But  I'm 
afraid,  old  chap,  that  I'm  going  to  worry  you  a  bit 
more  here.  I  feel  queer  today,  queer  inside  me.  Now 
it  would  be  a  topping  joke  if  some  other  complication 
should  set  in  and  fool  us  all  again,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  could  see  the  impression  he  was  making  on 
Cardigan.  Again  his  faith  in  the  psychology  of  the 
mind  found  its  absolute  verification.  Cardigan,  lifted 
unexpectedly  out  of  the  slough  of  despond  by  the  very 
man  whom  he  expected  to  condemn  him,  became  from 
that  moment,  in  the  face  of  the  mental  reaction,  al 
most  hypersympathetic.  When  finally  he  left  the 
room,  Kent  was  inwardly  rejoicing.  For  Cardigan' 
had  told  him  it  would  be  some  time  before  he  was 
strong  enough  to  stand  on  his  feet. 


96         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

He  did  not  see  Mercer  all  the  rest  of  that  day.  It 
was  Cardigan  who  personally  brought  his  dinner  and 
his  supper  and  attended  him  last  at  night.  He  asked 
not  to  be  interrupted  again,  as  he  felt  that  he  wanted 
to  sleep.  There  was  a  guard  outside  his  door  now. 

Cardigan  scowled  when  he  volunteered  this  informa 
tion.  It  was  sheer  nonsense  in  Kedsty  taking  such  a 
silly  precaution.  But  he  would  give  the  guard  rubber- 
soled  shoes  and  insist  that  he  make  no  sound  that 
would  disturb  him.  Kent  thanked  him,  and  grinned 
exultantly  when  he  was  gone. 

He  waited  until  his  watch  told  him  it  was  ten 
o'clock  before  he  began  the  exercise  which  he  had 
prescribed  for  himself.  Noiselessly  he  rolled  out  of 
bed.  There  was  no  sensation  of  dizziness  when  he 
stood  on  his  feet  this  time.  His  head  was  as  clear 
as  a  bell.  He  began  experimenting  by  inhaling  deeper 
and  still  deeper  breaths  and  by  straightening  his  chest. 

There  was  no  pain,  as  he  had  expected  there  would 
be.  He  felt  like  crying  out  in  his  joy.  One  after  the 
other  he  stretched  up  his  arms.  He  bent  over  until  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  touched  the  floor.  He  crooked  his 
knees,  leaned  from  side  to  side,  changed  from  one 
attitude  to  another,  amazed  at  the  strength  and  elas 
ticity  of  his  body.  Twenty  times,  before  he  returned 
to  his  bed,  he  walked  back  and  forth  across  his  room. 

He  was  sleepless.  Lying  with  his  back  to  the  pillows 
he  looked  out  into  the  starlight,  watching  for  the  first 
glow  of  the  moon  and  listening  again  to  the  owls  that 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         97 

had  nested  in  the  lightning-shriven  tree.  An  hour  later 
he  resumed  his  exercise. 

He  was  on  his  feet  when  through  his  window  he 
heard  the  sound  of  approaching  voices  and  then  of 
running  feet.  A  moment  later  some  one  was  pound 
ing  at  a  door,  and  a  loud  voice  shouted  for  Doctor 
Cardigan.  Kent  drew  cautiously  nearer  the  window. 
The  moon  had  risen,  and  he  saw  figures  approaching., 
slowly,  as  if  weighted  under  a  burden.  Before  they 
turned  out  of  his  vision,  he  made  out  two  men  bear 
ing  some  heavy  object  between  them.  Then  came  the 
opening  of  a  door,  other  voices,  and  after  that  an  in 
terval  of  quiet. 

He  returned  to  his  bed,  wondering  who  the  new 
patient  could  be. 

He  was  breathing  easier  after  his  exertion.  The 
fact  that  he  was  feeling  keenly  alive,  and  that  the 
thickening  in  his  chest  was  disappearing,  flushed  him 
with  elation.  An  unbounded  optimism  possessed  him. 
It  was  late  when  he  fell  asleep,  and  he  slept  late.  It 
was  Mercer's  entrance  into  his  room  that  roused  him. 
He  came  in  softly,  closed  the  door  softly,  yet  Kent 
heard  him.  The  moment  he  pulled  himself  up,  he 
knew  that  Mercer  had  a  report  to  make,  and  he  also 
saw  that  something  upsetting  had  happened  to  him. 
Mercer  was  a  bit  excited. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  waking  you,  sir,"  he  said,  lean 
ing  close  over  Kent,  as  though  fearing  the  guard 


98         THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

might  be  listening  at  the  door.  "But  I  thought  it  best 
for  you  to  hear  about  the  Indian,  sir." 

"The  Indian?" 

"Yes,  sir — Mooie,  sir.  I  am  quite  upset  over  it,  Mr. 
Kent.  He  told  me  early  last  evening  that  he  had 
found  the  scow  on  which  the  girl  was  going  down 
river.  He  said  it  was  hidden  in  Kim's  Bayou." 

"Kim's  Bayou!  That  was  a  good  hiding-place, 
Mercer!" 

"A  very  good  place  of  concealment  indeed,  sir.  As 
soon  as  it  was  dark,  Mooie  returned  to  watch.  What 
happened  to  him  I  haven't  fully  discovered,  sir.  But 
it  must  have  been  near  midnight  when  he  staggered 
up  to  Crossen's  place,  bleeding  and  half  out  of  his 
senses.  They  brought  him  here,  and  I  watched  over 
him  .most  of  the  night.  He  says  the  girl  went  aboard 
the  scow  and  that  the  scow  started  down-river.  That 
much  I  learned,  sir.  But  all  the  rest  he  mumbles  in  a 
tongue  I  can  not  understand.  Crossen  says  it's  Cree, 
and  that  old  Mooie  believes  devils  jumped  on  him 
with  clubs  down  at  Kim's  Bayou.  Of  course  they 
must  have  been  men.  I  don't  believe  in  Mooie's  devils, 
sir." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Kent,  the  blood  stirring  strangely  in 
his  veins.  "Mercer,  it  simply  means  there  was  some 
one  cleverer  than  old  Mooie  watching  that  trail." 

With  a  curiously  tense  face  Mercer  was  looking 
cautiously  toward  the  door.  Then  he  leaned  still 
lower  over  Kent 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN         99 

"During  his  mumblings,  when  I  was  alone  with 
him,  I  heard  him  speak  a  name,  sir.  Half  a  dozen 
times,  sir — and  it  was — Kedsty!" 

Kent's  fingers  gripped  the  young  Englishman's 
hand. 

"You  heard  that,  Mercer?" 

"I  am  sure  I  could  not  have  been  mistaken,  sir.  It 
was  repeated  a  number  of  times." 

Kent  fell  back  against  his  pillows.  His  mind  was 
working  swiftly.  He  knew  that  behind  an  effort  to 
appear  calm  Mercer  was  uneasy  over  what  had  hap 
pened. 

"We  mustn't  let  this  get  out,  Mercer,"  he  said.  "If 
Mooie  should  be  badly  hurt — should  die,  for  instance 
— and  it  was  discovered  that  you  and  I — — " 

He  knew  he  had  gone  far  enough  to  give  effect  to 
his  words.  He  did  not  even  look  at  Mercer. 

"Watch  him  closely,  old  man,  and  report  to  me 
everything  that  happens.  Find  out  more  about  Ked 
sty,  if  you  can.  I  shall  advise  you  how  to  act.  It  is 
rather  ticklish,  you  know — for  you!  And" — he 
smiled  at  Mercer — "I'm  unusually  hungry  this  morn 
ing.  Add  another  egg,  will  you,  Mercer?  Three  in 
stead  of  two.  and  a  couple  of  extra  slices  of  toast. 
And  don't  let  any  one  know  that  my  appetite  is  im 
proving.  It  may  be  best  for  both  of  us — especially  if 
Mooie  should  happen  to  die.  Understand,  old  man?" 

"I — I  think  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Mercer,  paling  at 


-.DO       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  grimly  smiling  thing  he  saw  in  Kent's  eyes.     "I 
shall  do  as  you  say,  sir." 

When  he  had  gone,  Kent  knew  that  he  had  accu 
rately  measured  his  man.  True  to  a  certain  type,  Mer 
cer  would  do  a  great  deal  for  fifty  dollars — under 
cover.  In  the  open  he  was  a  coward.  And  Kent  knew 
the  value  of  such  a  man  under  certain  conditions.  The 
present  was  one  of  those  conditions.  From  this  hour 
Mercer  would  be  a  priceless  asset  to  his  scheme  for 
personal  salvation. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THAT  morning  Kent  ate  a  breakfast  that  would 
have  amazed  Doctor  Cardigan  and  would  have 
roused  a  greater  caution  in  Inspector  Kedsty  had  he 
known  of  it.  While  eating  he  strengthened  the  bonds 
already  welded  between  himself  and  Mercer.  He 
feigned  great  uneasiness  over  the  condition  of  Mooie, 
who  he  knew  was  not  fatally  hurt  because  Mercer  had 
told  him  there  was  no  fracture.  But  if  he  should 
happen  to  die,  he  told  Mercer,  it  woaM  tr»e*i»,  Cometh. ci*g 
pretty  bad  for  them,  if  their  part^  in  the  ?ffai'r  leaked 
out. 

As  for  himself,  it  would  make  little  difference,  as  he 
was  "in  bad"  anyway.  But  he  did  not  want  to  see  a 
'good  friend  get  into  trouble  on  his  account.  Mercer 
was  impressed.  He  saw  himself  an  instrument  in  a 
possible  murder  affair,  and  the  thought  terrified  him. 
Even  at  best,  Kent  told  him,  they  had  given  and  taken 
bribes,  a  fact  that  would  go  hard  with  them  unless 
Mooie  kept  his  mouth  shut.  And  if  the  Indian  knew 
anything  out  of  the  way  about  Kedsty,  it  was  mighty 
important  that  he,  Mercer,  get  hold  of  it,  for  it  might 
prove  a  trump  card  with  them  in  the  event  of  a  show 
down  with  the  Inspector  of  Police.  As  a  matter  of 
form,  Mercer  took  his  temperature.  It  was  perfectly 

101 


102       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

normal,  but  it  was  easy  for  Kent  to  persuade  a  nota 
tion  on  the  chart  a  degree  above. 

"Better  keep  them  thinking  I'm  still  pretty  sick,"  he 
assured  Mercer.  "They  won't  suspect  there  is  any 
thing  between  us  then." 

Mercer  was  so  much  in  sympathy  with  the  idea 
that  he  suggested  adding  another  half-degree. 

It  was  a  splendid  day  for  Kent.  He  could  feel 
himself  growing  stronger  with  each  hour  that  passed. 
Yet  not  once  during  the  day  did  he  get  out  of  his 
bed,  fearing  that  he  might  be  discovered.  Cardigan 
visited  him  twice  and  had  no  suspicion  of  Mercer's 
temperature  chart.  He  dressed  his  wound,  which  was 
healing  fast.  It  w>is  the  fever  which  depressed  him. 
There  must  be,  he  said,  some  internal  disarrangement 
which  would  soon  clear  itself  up.  Otherwise  there 
seemed  to  be  no  very  great  reason  why  Kent  should 
not  get  on  his  feet.  He  smiled  apologetically. 

"Seems  queer  to  say  that,  when  a  little  while  ago 
I  was  telling  you  it  was  time  to  die,"  he  said. 

That  night,  after  ten  o'clock,  Kent  went  through 
his  setting-up  exercises  four  times.  He  marveled  even 
more  than  the  preceding  night  at  the  swiftness  with 
which  his  strength  was  returning.  Half  a  dozen  times 
the  little  devils  of  eagerness  working  in  his  blood 
prompted  him  to  take  to  the  window  at  once. 

For  three  days  and  nights  thereafter  he  kept  his 
secret  and  added  to  his  strength.  Doctor  Cardigan 
came  in  to  see  him  at  intervals,  and  Father  Layonne 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        103 

visited  him  regularly  every  afternoon.  Mercer  was 
his  most  frequent  visitor.  On  the  third  day  two  things 
happened  to  create  a  little  excitement.  Doctor  Cardi 
gan  left  on  a  four-day  journey  to  a  settlement  fifty 
miles  south,  leaving  Mercer  in  charge — and  Mooie 
came  suddenly  out  of  his  fever  into  his  normal  senses 
again.  The  first  event  filled  Kent  with  joy.  With 
Cardigan  out  of  the  way  there  would  be  no  immediate 
danger  of  the  discovery  that  he  was  no  longer  a  sick 
man.  But  it  was  the  recovery  of  Mooie  from  the 
thumping  he  had  received  about  the  head  that  de 
lighted  Mercer.  He  was  exultant.  With  the  quick 
reaction  of  his  kind  he  gloated  over  the  fact  before 
Kent.  He  let  it  be  known  that  he  was  no  longer  afraid, 
and  from  the  moment  Mooie  was  out  of  danger  his 
attitude  was  such  that  more  than  once  Kent  would 
have  taken  keen  pleasure  in  kicking  him  from  the 
room.  Also,  from  the  hour  he  was  safely  in  charge  of 
Doctor  Cardigan's  place,  Mercer  began  to  swell  with 
importance.  Kent  saw  the  new  danger  and  began  to 
humor  him.  He  flattered  him.  He  assured  him  that 
it  was  a  burning  shame  Cardigan  had  not  taken  him 
into  partnership.  He  deserved  it.  And,  in  justice  to 
himself,  Mercer  should  demand  that  partnership  when 
Cardigan  returned.  He,  Kent,  would  talk  to  Father 
Layonne  about  it,  and  the  missioner  would  spread  the 
gospel  of  what  ought  to  be  among  others  who  were 
influential  at  the  Landing.  For  two  days  he  played 
with  Mercer  as  an  angler  plays  with  a  treacherous  fish. 


104       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

He  tried  to  get  Mercer  to  discover  more  about  Mooie's 
reference  to  Kedsty.  But  the  old  Indian  had  shut  up 
like  a  clam. 

"He  was  frightened  when  I  told  him  he  had  said 
things  about  the  Inspector,"  Mercer  reported.  "He 
disavowed  everything.  He  shook  his  head — no,  no, 
no.  He  had  not  seen  Kedsty.  He  knew  nothing  about 
him.  I  can  do  nothing  with  him,  Kent/' 

He  had  dropped  his  "sirs,"  also  his  servant-like 
servility.  He  helped  to  smoke  Kent's  cigars  with  the 
intimacy  of  proprietorship,  and  with  offensive  free 
dom  called  him  "Kent."  He  spoke  of  the  Inspector  as 
"Kedsty,"  and  of  Father  Layonne  as  "the  little  preach 
er."  He  swelled  perceptibly,  and  Kent  knew  that 
each  hour  of  that  swelling  added  to  his  own  danger. 

He  believed  that  Mercer  was  talking.  Several  times 
a  day  he  heard  him  in  conversation  with  the  guard, 
and  not  infrequently  Mercer  went  down  to  the  Land 
ing,  twirling  a  little  reed  cane  that  he  had  not  dared 
to  use  before.  He  began  to  drop  opinions  and  in 
formation  to  Kent  in  a  superior  sort  of  way.  On  the 
fourth  day  word  came  that  Doctor  Cardigan  would 
not  return  for  another  forty-eight  hours,  and  with 
unblushing  conceit  Mercer  intimated  that  when  he  did 
return  he  would  find  big  changes.  Then  it  was  that 
in  the  stupidity  of  his  egotism  he  said : 

"Kedsty  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  rue,  Kent.  He's 
a  square  old  top,  when  you  take  him  right.  Had  me 
over  this  afternoon,  and.  we  smoked  a  cigar  together. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        105 

When  I  told  him  that  I  looked  in  at  your  window  last 
night  and  saw  you  going  through  a  lot  of  exercises, 
he  jumped  up  as  if  some  one  had  stuck  a  pin  in  him. 
'Why,  I  thought  he  was  sick — bad!9  he  said.  And  I 
let  him  know  there  were  better  ways  of  making  a  sick 
man  well  than  Cardigan's.  'Give  them  plenty  to  eat/ 
I  said.  'Let  'em  live  normal,'  I  argued.  'Look  at 
Kent,  for  instance,'  I  told  him.  'He's  been  eating 
like  a  bear  for  a  week,  and  he  can  turn  somersaults 
this  minute !'  That  topped  him  over,  Kent.  I  knew  it 
would  be  a  bit  of  a  surprise  for  him,  that  I  should  do 
what  Cardigan  couldn't  do.  He  walked  back  and 
forth,  black  as  a  hat — thinking  of  Cardigan,  I  sup 
pose.  Then  he  called  in  that  Pelly  chap  and  gave  him 
something  which  he  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper.  After 
that  he  shook  hands  with  me,  slapped  me  on  the  shoul 
der  most  intimately,  and  gave  me  another  cigar.  He's 
a  keen  old  blade,  Kent.  He  doesn't  need  more  than 
one  pair  of  eyes  to  see  what  I've  done  since  Cardigan 
went  away!" 

If  ever  Kent's  hands  had  itched  to  get  at  the  throat 
of  a  human  being,  the  yearning  convulsed  his  fingers 
now.  At  the  moment  when  he  was  about  to  act  Mer 
cer  had  betrayed  him  to  Kedsty!  He  turned  his  face 
away  so  that  Mercer  could  not  see  what  was  in  his 
eyes.  Under  his  body  he  concealed  his  clenched  hands. 
Within  himself  he  fought  against  the  insane  desire 
that  was  raging  in  his  blood,  the  desire  to  leap  on 
Mercer  and  kill  him.  If  Cardigan  had  reported  his 


io6       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

condition  to  Kedsty,  it  would  have  been  different. 
He  would  have  accepted  the  report  as  a  matter  of 
honorable  necessity  on  Cardigan's  part.  But  Mercer 
— a  toad  blown  up  by  his  own  wind,  a  consummate 
fiend  who  would  sell  his  best  friend,  a  fool,  an  ass 

For  a  space  he  held  himself  rigid  as  a  stone,  his 
face  turned  away  from  Mercer.  His  better  sense  won. 
He  knew  that  his  last  chance  depended  upon  his  cool 
ness  now.  And  Mercer  unwittingly  helped  him  to 
win  by  slyly  pocketing  a  couple  of  his  cigars  and  leav 
ing  the  room.  For  a  minute  or  two  Kent  heard  him 
talking  to  the  guard  outside  the  door. 

He  sat  up  then.  It  was  five  o'clock.  How  long 
ago  was  it  that  Mercer  had  seen  Kedsty?  What  was 
the  order  that  the  Inspector  had  written  on  a  sheet  of 
paper  for  Constable  Pelly?  Was  it  simply  that  he 
should  be  more  closely  watched,  or  was  it  a  command 
to  move  him  to  one  of  the  cells  close  to  the  detach 
ment  office?  If  it  was  the  latter,  all  his  hopes  and 
plans  were  destroyed.  His  mind  flew  to  those  cells. 

The  Landing  had  no  jail,  not  even  a  guard-house, 
though  the  members  of  the  force  sometimes  spoke  of 
the  cells  just  behind  Inspector  Kedsty 's  office  by  that, 
name.  The  cells  were  of  cement,  and  Kent  himself 
had  helped  to  plan  them !  The  irony  of  the  thing  did 
not  strike  him  just  then.  He  was  recalling  the  fact 
that  no  prisoner  had  ever  escaped  from  those  cement 
cells.  If  no  action  were  taken  before  six  o'clock,  he 
was  sure  thai:  it  would  be  postponed  until  the  follow- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        107 

mg  morning.  It  was  possible  that  Kedsty's  order  was 
for  Felly  to  prepare  a  cell  for  him.  Deep  in  his  soul 
he  prayed  fervently  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of  prep 
aration.  If  they  would  give  him  one  more  night — 
just  one ! 

His  watch  tinkled  the  half-hour.  Then  a  quarter  of 
six.  Then  six.  His  blood  ran  feverishly,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he  possessed  the  reputation  of  being  the 
coolest  man  in  N  Division.  He  lighted  his  last  cigar 
and  smoked  it  slowly  to  cover  the  suspense  which  he 
feared  revealed  itself  in  his  face,  should  any  one  come 
into  his  room.  His  supper  was  due  at  seven.  At  eight 
it  would  begin  to  get  dusk.  The  moon  was  rising  later 
each  night,  and  it  would  not  appear  over  the  forests 
until  after  eleven.  He  would  go  through  his  window 
at  ten  o'clock.  His  mind  worked  swiftly  and  surely 
as  to  the  method  of  his  first  night' s  flight.  There  were 
always  a  number  of  boats  down  at  Crossen's  place. 
He  would  start  in  one  of  these,  and  by  the  time  Mer 
cer  discovered  he  was  gone,  he  would  be  forty  miles 
on  his  way  to  freedom.  Then  he  would  set  his  boat 
adrift,  or  hide  it,  and  start  cross-country  until  his 
trail  was  lost.  Somewhere  and  in  some  way  he 
would  find  both  guns  and  food.  It  was  fortunate 
that  he  had  not  given  Mercer  the  other  fifty  dollars 
under  his  pillow. 

At  seven  Mercer  came  with  his  supper.  A  little 
gleam  of  disappointment  shot  into  his  pale  eyes  when 


io8       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

he  found  the  last  cigar  gone  from  the  box.  Kent  saw 
the  expression  and  tried  to  grin  good-humoredly. 

"I'm  going  to  have  Father  Layonne  bring  me  up 
another  box  in  the  morning,  Mercer,"  he  said.  "That 
is,  if  I  can  get  hold  of  him." 

"You  probably  can,"  snapped  Mercer.  "He  doesn't 
live  far  from  barracks,  and  that's  where  you  are 
going.  I've  got  orders  to  have  you  ready  to  move  in 
the  morning." 

Kent's  blood  seemed  for  an  instant  to  flash  into 
living  flame.  He  drank  a  part  of  his  cup  of  coffee 
and  said  then,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders:  "I'm 
glad  of  it,  Mercer.  I'm  anxious  to  have  the  thing 
over.  The  sooner  they  get  me  down  there,  the  quicker 
they  will  take  action.  And  I'm  not  afraid,  not  a  bit 
of  it.  I'm  bound  to  win.  There  isn't  a  chance  in  a 
hundred  that  they  can  convict  me." 

Then  he  added:  "And  I'm  going  to  have  a  box 
of  cigars  sent  up  to  you,  Mercer.  I'm  grateful  to 
you  for  the  splendid  treatment  you  have  given  me." 

No  sooner  had  Mercer  gone  with  the  supper  things 
than  Kent's  knotted  fist  shook  itself  fiercely  in  the 
direction  of  the  door. 

"My  God,  how  I'd  like  to  have  you  out  in  the 
woods — alone — for  just  one  hour!"  he  whispered. 

Eight  o'clock  came,  and  nine.  Two  or  three  times 
he  heard  voices  in  the  hall,  probably  Mercer  talking 
with  the  guard.  Once  he  thought  he  heard  a  rumble 
of  thunder,  and  his  heart  "throbbed  joyously.  Never 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        109 

had  he  welcomed  a  storm  as  he  would  have  welcomed 
it  tonight.  But  the  skies  remained  clear.  Not  only 
that,  but  the  stars  as  they  began  to  appear  seemed  to 
him  more  brilliant  than  he  had  ever  seen  them  be 
fore.  And  it  was  very  still.  The  rattle  of  a  scow- 
chain  came  up  to  him  from  the  river  as  though  it 
were  only  a  hundred  yards  away.  He  knew  that  it 
was  one  of  Mooie's  dogs  he  heard  howling  over  near 
the  sawmill.  The  owls,  flitting  past  his  window, 
seemed  to  click  their  beaks  more  loudly  than  last 
night.  A  dozen  times  he  fancied  he  could  hear  the 
rippling  voice  of  the  river  that  very  soon  was  to 
carry  him  on  toward  freedom. 

The  river!  Every  dream  and  aspiration  found  its 
voice  for  him  in  that  river  now.  Down  it  Marette 
Radisson  had  gone.  And  somewhere  along  it,  or  on 
the  river  beyond,  or  the  third  river  still  beyond  that, 
he  would  find  her.  In  the  long,  tense  wait  between 
the  hours  of  nine  and  ten  he  brought  the  girl  back 
into  his  room  again.  He  recalled  every  gesture  she 
had  made,  every  word  she  had  spoken.  He  felt  the 
thrill  of  her  hand  on  his  forehead,  her  kiss,  and  in 
his  brain  her  'softly  spoken  words  repeated  them 
selves  over  and  over  again,  "I  think  that  if  you  lived 
very  long  I  should  love  you."  And  as  she  had  spoken 
those  words  she  knew  that  he  was  not  going  to  die! 

Why,  then,  had  she  gone  away?  Knowing  that  he 
was  going  to  live,  why  had  she  not  remained  to  help 
I 


no       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

him  if  she  could?  Either  she  had  spoken  the  words 
in  jest,  or 

A  new  thought  flashed  into  his  mind.  It  almost 
drew  a  cry  from  his  lips.  It  brought  him  up  tense, 
erect,  his  heart  pounding.  Had  she  gone  away?  Was 
it  not  possible  that  she,  too,  was  playing  a  game  in 
giving  the  impression  that  she  was  leaving  down-river 
on  the  hidden  scow?  Was  it  conceivable  that  she 
was  playing  that  game  against  Kedsty?  A  picture, 
clean-cut  as  the  stars  in  the  sky,  began  to  outline 
itself  in  his  mental  vision.  It  was  clear,  now,  what 
Mooie's  mumblings  about  Kedsty  had  signified. 
Kedsty  had  accompanied  Marette  to  the  scow.  Mooie 
had  seen  him  and  had  given  the  fact  away  in  his 
fever.  Afterward  he  had  clamped  his  mouth  shut 
through  fear  of  the  "big  man"  of  the  Law.  But 
why,  still  later,  had  he  almost  been  done  to  death? 
Mooie  was  a  harmless  creature.  He  had  no  enemies. 

There  was  no  one  at  the  Landing  who  would  have 
assaulted  the  old  trailer,  whose  hair  was  white  with 
age.  No  one,  unless  it  was  Kedsty  himself — Kedsty 
at  bay,  Kedsty  in  a  rage.  Even  that  was  inconceiv 
able.  Whatever  the  motive  of  the  assault  might  be, 
and  no  matter  who  had  committed  it,  Mooie  had 
most  certainly  seen  the  Inspector  of  Police  accompany 
Marette  Radisson  to  the  scow.  And  the  question 
which  Kent  found  it  impossible  to  answer  was,  had 
Marette  Radisson  really  gone  down  the  river  on  that 
scow? 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        in 

It  was  almost  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment 
that  he  told  himself  it  was  possible  she  had  not.  He 
wanted  her  on  the  river.  He  wanted  her  going  north 
and  still  farther  north.  The  thought  that  she  was 
mixed  up  in  some  affair  that  had  to  do  with  Kedsty 
was  displeasing  to  him.  If  she  was  still  in  the  Land 
ing  or  near  the  Landing,  it  could  no  longer  be  on 
account  of  Sandy  McTrigger,  the  man  his  confession 
had  saved.  In  his  heart  he  prayed  that  she  was  many 
days  down  the  Athabasca,  for  it  was  there — and  only 
there — that  he  would  ever  see  her  again.  And  his 
greatest  desire,  next  to  his  desire  for  his  freedom, 
was  to  find  her.  He  was  frank  with  himself  in  mak 
ing  that  confession.  He  was  more  than  that.  He 
knew  that  not  a  day  or  night  would  pass  that  he 
would  not  think  or  dream  of  Marette  Radisson.  The 
wonder  of  her  had  grown  more  vivid  for  him  with 
each  hour  that  passed,  and  he  was  sorry  now  that 
he  had  not  dared  to  touch  her  hair.  She  would  not 
have  been  offended  with  him,  for  she  had  kissed  him 
— after  he  had  killed  the  impulse  to  lay  his  hand  on 
that  soft  glory  that  had  crowned  her  head. 

And  then  the  little  bell  in  his  watch  tinkled  the 
hour  of  ten!  He  sat  up  with  a  jerk.  For  a  space 
he  held  his  breath  while  he  listened.  In  the  hall 
outside  his  room  there  was  no  sound.  An  inch  at 
a  time  he  drew  himself  off  his  bed  until  he  stood  on 
his  feet.  His  clothes  hung  on  hooks  in  the  wall,  and 
he  groped  his  way  to  them  so  quietly  that  one  listen- 


H2       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

ing  at  the  crack  of  his  door  would  not  have  heard 
him.  He  dressed  swiftly.  Then  he  made  his  way 
to  the  window,  looked  out,  and  listened. 

In  the  brilliant  starlight  he  saw  nothing  but  the 
two  white  stubs  of  the  lightning-shattered  trees  in 
which  the  owls  lived.  And  it  was  very  still.  The 
air  was  fresh  and  sweet  in  his  face.  In  it  he  caught 
the  scent  of  the  distant  balsams  and  cedars.  The 
world,  wonderful  in  its  night  silence,  waited  for  him. 
It  was  impossible  for  him  to  conceive  of  failure  or 
death  out  there,  and  it  seemed  unreal  and  trivial  that 
the  Law  should  expect  to  hold  him,  with  that  world 
reaching  out  its  arms  to  him  an4  calling  him. 

Assured  that  the  moment  for  action  was  at  hand, 
he  moved  quickly.  In  another  ten  seconds  he  was 
through  the  window,  and  his  feet  were  on  the  ground. 
For  a  space  he  stood  out  clear  in  the  starlight.  Then 
he  hurried  to  the  end  of  the  building  and  hid  himself 
in  the  shadow.  The  swiftness  of  his  movement  had 
brought  him  no  physical  discomfort,  and  his  blood 
danced  with  the  thrill  of  the  earth  under  his  feet 
and  the  thought  that  his  wound  must  be  even  more 
completely  healed  than  he  had  supposed.  A  wild  ex 
ultation  swept  over  him.  He  was  free!  He  could 
see  the  river  now,  shimmering  and  talking  to  him  in 
the  starlight,  urging  him  to  hurry,  telling  him  that 
only  a  little  while  ago  another  had  gone  north  on 
the  breast  of  it,  and  that  if  he  hastened  it  would  help 
him  to  overtake  her.  He  felt  the  throb  of  new  life  in 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        113 

his  body.    His  eyes  shone  strangely  in  the  semi-gloom. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  only  yesterday  Marette  had 
gone.  She  could  not  be  far  away,  even  now.  And  in 
these  moments,  with  the  breath  of  freedom  stirring 
him  with  the  glory  of  new  life,  she  was  different  for 
him  from  what  she  had  ever  been.  She  was  a  part 
of  him.  He  could  not  think  of  escape  without  think 
ing  of  her.  She  became,  in  these  precious  moments, 
the  living  soul  of  his  wilderness.  He  felt  her  pres 
ence.  The  thought  possessed  him  that  somewhere 
down  the  river  she  was  thinking  of  him,  waiting,  ex 
pecting  him.  And  in  that  same  flash  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  would  not  discard  the  boat,  as  he  had 
planned;  he  would  conceal  himself  by  day,  and  float 
downstream  by  night,  until  at  last  he  came  to  Marette 
Radisson.  And  then  he  would  tell  her  why  he  had 
come.  And  after  that 

He  looked  toward  Crossen's  place.  He  would  make 
straight  for  it,  openly,  like  a  man  bent  on  a  mission 
there  was  no  reason  to  conceal.  If  luck  went  right, 
and  Crossen  was  abed,  he  would  be  on  the  river 
within  fifteen  minutes.  His  blood  ran  faster  as  he 
took  his  first  step  out  into  the  open  starlight.  Fifty 
yards  ahead  of  him  was  the  building  which  Cardigan* 
used  for  his  fuel.  Safely  beyond  that,  no  one  could 
see  him  from  the  windows  of  the  hospital.  He  walked 
swiftly.  Twenty  paces,  thirty,  forty — and  he  stopped 
as  suddenly  as  the  half-breed's  bullet  had  stopped  him 
weeks  before.  Round  the  end  of  Cardigan's  fuel 


H4       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

house  came  a  figure.  It  was  Mercer.  He  was  twirl 
ing  his  little  cane  and  traveling  quietly  as  a  cat.  They 
were  not  ten  feet  apart,  yet  Kent  had  not  heard  him. 

Mercer  stopped.  The  cane  dropped  from  his  hand. 
Even  in  the  starlight  Kent  could  see  his  face  turn 
white. 

"Don't  make  a  sound,  Mercer,"  he  warned.  "I'm 
taking  a  little  exercise  in  the  open  air.  If  you  cry 
out,  I'll  kill  you!" 

He  advanced  slowly,  speaking  in  a  voice  that  could 
not  have  been  heard  at  the  windows  behind  him.  And 
then  a  thing  happened  that  froze  the  blood  in  his 
veins.  He  had  heard  the  scream  of  every  beast  of 
the  great  forests,  but  never  a  scream  like  that  which 
came  from  Mercer's  lips  now.  It  was  not  the  cry 
of  a  man.  To  Kent  it  was  the  voice  of  a  fiend,  a 
devil.  It  did  not  call  for  help.  It  was  wordless.  And 
as  the  horrible  sound  issued  from  Mercer's  mouth 
he  could  see  the  swelling  throat  and  bulging  eyes  that 
accompanied  the  effort.  They  made  him  think  of  a 
snake,  a  cobra. 

The  chill  went  out  of  his  blood,  replaced  by  a 
flame  of  hottest  fire.  He  forgot  everything  but  that 
this  serpent  was  in  his  path.  Twice  he  had  stood 
in  his  way.  And  he  hated  him.  He  hated  him  with 
a  virulency  that  was  death.  Neither  the  call  of  free 
dom  nor  the  threat  of  prison  could  keep  him  from 
wreaking  vengeance  now.  Without  a  sound  he  was 
at  Mercer's  throat,  and  the  scream  ended  in  a  choking 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       115 

shriek.  His  fingers  dug  into  flabby  flesh,  and  his 
clenched  fist  beat  again  and  again  into  Mercer's  face. 

He  went  to  the  ground,  crushing  the  human  serpent 
under  him.  And  he  continued  to  strike  and  choke 
as  he  had  never  struck  or  choked  another  man,  all 
other  things  overwhelmed  by  his  mad  desire  to  tear 
into  pieces  this  two-legged  English  vermin  who  was 
too  foul  to  exist  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

And  he  still  continued  to  strike — even  after  the 
path  lay  clear  once  more  between  him  and  the  river. 


CHAPTER  X 

"1T7HAT  a  terrible  and  inexcusable  madness  had  pos 
sessed  him,  Kent  realized  the  instant  he  rose 
from  Mercer's  prostrate  body.  Never  had  his  brain 
flamed  to  that  madness  before.  He  believed  at  first  that 
he  had  killed  Mercer.  It  was  neither  pity  nor  regret 
that  brought  him  to  his  senses.  Mercer,  a  coward 
and  a  traitor,  a  sneak  of  the  lowest  type,  had  no  ex 
cuse  for  living.  It  was  the  thought  that  he  had  lost 
his  chance  to  reach  the  river  that  cleared  his  head  as 
he  swayed  over  Mercer. 

He  heard  running  feet.  He  saw  figures  approach 
ing  swiftly  through  the  starlight.  And  he  was  too 
weak  to  fight  or  run.  The  little  strength  he  had  saved 
up,  and  which  he  had  planned  to  use  so  carefully  in  his 
flight,  was  gone.  His  wound,  weeks  in  bed,  muscles 
unaccustomed  to  the  terrific  exertion  he  had  made  in 
these  moments  of  his  vengeance,  left  him  now  pant 
ing  and  swaying  as  the  running  footsteps  came  nearer. 

His  head  swam.  For  a  space  he  was  sickeningly 
dizzy,  and  in  the  first  moment  of  that  dizziness,  when 
every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  seemed  rushing  to  his 
brain,  his  vision  was  twisted  and  his  sense  of  direction 
gone.  In  his  rage  he  had  overexerted  himself.  He 
knew  that  something  had  gone  wrong  inside  him  and 

116 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        117 

that  he  was  helpless.  Even  then  his  impulse  was  to 
stagger  toward  the  inanimate  Mercer  and  kick  him,  but 
hands  caught  him  and  held  him.  He  heard  an  amazed 
voice,  then  another — and  something  hard  and  cold  shut 
round  his  wrists  like  a  pair  of  toothless  jaws. 

It  was  Constable  Carter,  Inspector  Kedsty's  right- 
hand  man  about  barracks,  that  he  saw  first;  then  old 
Sands,  the  caretaker  at  Cardigan's  place.  Swiftly  as 
he  had  turned  sick,  his  brain  grew  clear,  and  his  blood 
distributed  itself  evenly  again  through  his  body.  He 
held  up  his  hands.  Carter  had  slipped  a  pair  of 
irons  on  him,  and  the  starlight  glinted  on  the  shining 
steel.  Sands  was  bending  over  Mercer,  and  Carter 
was  saying  in  a  low  voice : 

"It's  too  bad,  Kent.  But  I've  got  to  do  it.  I  saw 
you  from  the  window  just  as  Mercer  screamed.  Why 
did  you  stop  for  him?" 

Mercer  was  getting  up  with  the  assistance  of  Sands. 
He  turned  a  bloated  and  unseeing  face  toward  Kent 
and  Carter.  He  was  blubbering  and  moaning,  as 
though  entreating  for  mercy  in  the  fear  that  Kent  had 
not  finished  with  him.  Carter  pulled  Kent  away. 

"There's  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do  now,"  he 
said.  "It  isn't  pleasant.  But  the  law  says  I  must 
take  you  to  barracks." 

In  the  sky  Kent  saw  the  stars  clearly  again,  and 
his  lungs  were  drinking  in  the  cool  air  as  in  the  won 
derful  moments  before  his  encounter  with  Mercer. 

He  had  lost.     And  it  was  Mercer  who  had  made 


n8       THE  V- ALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

him  lose.  Carter  felt  the  sudden  tightening  of  his 
muscles  as  he  walked  with  a  hand  on  his  arm,  And 
Kent  shut  his  teeth  close  and  made  no  answer  to 
what  Carter  had  said,  except  that  Carter  heard  some 
thing  which  he  thought  was  a  sob  choked  to  death 
in  the  other's  throat. 

Carter,  too,  was  a  man  bred  of  the  red  blood  of  the 
North,  and  he  knew  what  was  in  Kent's  heart.  For 
only  by  the  breadth  of  a  hair  had  Kent  failed  in  his 
flight. 

Pelly  was  on  duty  at  barracks,  and  it  was  Pelly  who 
locked  him  in  one  of  the  three  cells  behind  the  detach 
ment  office.  When  he  was  gone,  Kent  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  his  prison  cot  and  for  the  first  time  let 
the  agony  of  his  despair  escape  in  a  gasping  breath 
from  between  his  lips.  Half  an  hour  ago  the  world 
had  reached  out  its  arms  to  him,  and  he  had  gone 
forth  to  its  welcome,  only  to  have  the  grimmest  trag 
edy  of  all  his  life  descend  upon  him  like  the  sword 
of  Damocles.  For  this  was  real  tragedy.  Here  there 
was  no  hope.  The  tentacles  of  the  law  had  him  in 
their  grip,  and  he  could  no  longer  dream  of  escape. 

Ghastly  was  the  thought  that  it  was  he,  James  Kent, 
who  had  supervised  the  building  of  these  cells!  Ac 
quainted  with  every  trick  and  stratagem  of  the  pris 
oner  plotting  for  his  freedom,  he  had  left  no  weak 
point  in  their  structure.  Again  he  clenched  his  hands, 
and  in  his  soul  he  cursed  Mercer  as  he  went  to  the 
little  barred  window  that  overlooked  the  river  from 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        119 

his  cell.  The  river  was  near  now.  He  could  hear  the 
murmur  of  it.  He  could  see  its  movement,  and  that 
movement,  played  upon  by  the  stars,  seemed  now  a 
writhing  sort  of  almost  noiseless  laughter  taunting 
him  in  his  folly. 

He  went  back  to  his  cot,  and  in  his  despair  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands.  In  the  half-hour  after  that  he 
did  not  raise  his  head.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  knew  that  he  was  beaten,  so  utterly  beaten  that 
he  no  more  had  the  desire  to  fight,  and  his  soul  was 
dark  with  the  chaos  of  the  things  he  had  lost. 

At  last  he  opened  his  eyes  to  the  blackness  of  his 
prison  room,  and  he  beheld  a  marvelous  thing.  Across 
the  gloom  of  the  cell  lay  a  shaft  of  golden  fire.  It 
was  the  light  of  the  rising  moon  coming  through 
his  little,  steel-barred  window.  To  Kent  it  had  crept 
into  his  cell  like  a  living  thing.  He  watched  it,  fasci 
nated.  His  eyes  followed  it  to  the  foot-square  aper 
ture,  and  there,  red  and  glorious  as  it  rose  over  the 
forests,  the  moon  itself  filled  the  world.  For  a  space 
he  saw  nothing  but  that  moon  crowding  the  frame 
of  his  window.  And  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood 
where  his  face  was  flooded  in  the  light  of  it,  he  felt 
stirring  within  him  the  ghosts  of  his  old  hopes.  One 
by  one  they  rose  up  and  came  to  life.  He  held  out 
his  hands,  as  if  to  fill  them  with  the  liquid  glow;  his 
heart  beat  faster  in  that  glory  of  the  moonrise.  The 
taunting  murmur  of  the  river  changed  once  more  into 
hopeful  song,  his  fingers  closed  tightly  around  the 


- 120       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

bars,  and  the  fighting1  spirit  rose  in  him  again.  As 
that  spirit  surged  stronger,  beating  down  his  despair, 
driving  the  chaos  out  of  his  brain,  he  watched  the 
moon  as  it  climbed  higher,  changing  from  the  red  of 
the  lower  atmosphere  to  the  yellow  gold  of  the  greater 
heights,  marveling  at  the  miracle  of  light  and  color 
that  had  never  failed  to  stir  him. 

And  then  he  laughed.  If  Pelly  or  Carter  had  heard 
him,  they  would  have  wondered  if  he  was  mad.  It 
was  madness  of  a  sort — the  madness  of  restored  con 
fidence,  of  an  unlimited  faith,  of  an  optimism  that 
was  bound  to  make  dreams  come  true.  Again  he 
looked  beyond  the  bars  of  his  cell.  The  world  was 
still  there;  the  river  was  there;  all  the  things  that 
were  worth  fighting  for  were  there.  And  he  would 
fight.  Just  "how,  he  did  not  try  to  tell  himself  now. 
And  then  he  laughed  again,  softly,  a  bit  grimly,  for 
he  saw  the  melancholy  humour  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  built  his  own  prison. 

He  sat  down  again  on  the  edge  of  his  cot,  and  the 
whimsical  thought  struck  him '  that  all  those  he  had 
brought  to  this  same  cell,  and  who  had  paid  the  first 
of  their  penance  here,  must  be  laughing  at  him  now 
in  the  spirit  way.  In  his  mental  fancy  a  little  army 
of  faces  trooped  before  him,  faces  dark  and  white, 
faces  filled  with  hatred  and  despair,  faces  brave  with 
the  cheer  of  hope  and  faces  pallid  with,  the  dread  of 
dteath.  And  of  these  ghosts  of  his  man-hunting 
prowess  it  was  Anton  Fournet's  face  that  came  out 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        121 

of  the  crowd  and  remained  with  him.  For  he  had 
brought  Anton  to  this  same  cell — Anton,  the  big 
Frenchman,  with  his  black  hair,  his  black  beard,  and 
his  great,  rolling  laugh  that  even  in  the  days  when 
he  was  waiting  for  death  had  rattled  the  paper-weights 
on  Kedsty's  desk. 

Anton  rose  up  like  a  god  before  Kent  now.  He 
had  killed  a  man,  and  like  a  brave  man  he  had  not 
denied  it.  With  a  heart  in  his  great  body  as  gentle 
as  a  girl's,  Anton  had  taken  pride  in  the  killing.  In 
his  prison  days  he  sang  songs  to  glorify  it.  He  had 
killed  the  white  man  from  Chippewyan  who  had  stolen 
his  neighbor's  wife!  Not  his  wife,  but  his  neigh 
bor's!  For  Anton's  creed  was,  "Do  unto  others  as 
you  would  have  others  do  unto  you,J>  and  he  had 
loved  his  neighbor  with  the  great  forest  love  of  man« 
for  man.  His  neighbor  was  weak,  and  Anton  was 
strong  with  the  strength  of  a  bull,  so  that  when  the' 
hour  came,  it  was  Anton  who  had  measured  out  ven 
geance.  When  Kent  brought  Anton  in,  the  giant  had 
laughed  first  at  the  littleness  of  his  cell,  then  at  the 
unsuspected  strength  of  it,  and  after  that  he  had 
laughed  and  sung  great,  roaring  songs  every  day  of 
the  brief  tenure  of  life  that  was  given  him.  When 
he  died,  it  was  with  the  smiling  glory  in  his  face  of 
one  who  had  cheaply  righted  a  great  wrong. 

Kent  would  never  forget  Anton  Fournet.  He  had 
never  ceased  to  grieve  that  it  had  been  his  misfortune 
to  bring  Anton  in,  and  always,  in  close  moments,  the 


122       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

thought  of  Anton,  the  stout-hearted,  rallied  him  back 
to  courage.  Never  would  he  be  the  man  that  Anton 
Fournet  had  been,  he  told  himself  many  times.  Never 
would  his  heart  be  as  great  or  as  big,  though  the 
Law  had  hanged  Anton  by  the  neck  until  the  soul  was 
choked  out  of  his  splendid  body,  for  it  was  history  that 
Anton  Fournet  had  never  harmed  man,  woman,  or 
child  until  he  set  out  to  kill  a  human  snake  and  the  Law 
placed  its  heel  upon  him  and  crushed  him. 

And  tonight  Anton  Fournet  came  into  the  cell  again 
and  sat  with  Kent  on  the  cot  where  he  had  slept  many 
nights,  and  the  ghosts  of  his  laughter  and  his  song 
filled  Kent's  ears,  and  his  great  courage  poured  itself 
out  in  the  moonlit  prison  room  so  that  at  last,  when 
Kent  stretched  himself  on  the  cot  to  sleep,  it  was  with 
the  knowledge  that  the  soul  of  the  splendid  dead  had 
given  him  a  strength  which  it  was  impossible  to  have 
gained  from  the  living.  For  Anton  Fournet  had  died 
smiling,  laughing,  singing — and  it  was  of  Anton 
Fournet  that  he  dreamed  when  he  fell  asleep.  And  in 
that  dream  came  also  the  vision  of  a  man  called 
Dirty  Fingers — and  with  it  inspiration. 


CHAPTER  XI 

T1I7HERE  a  bit  of  the  big  river  curved  inward  like 
*  the  tongue  of  a  friendly  dog,  lapping  the  shore  at 
Athabasca  Landing,  there  still  remained  Fingers'  Row 
— nine  dilapidated,  weather-worn,  and  crazily-built 
shacks  put  there  by  the  eccentric  genius  who  had 
foreseen  a  boom  ten  years  ahead  of  its  time.  And 
the  fifth  of  these  nine,  counting  from  either  one  end 
or  the  other,  was  named  by  its  owner,  Dirty  Fingers 
himself,  the  Good  Old  Queen  Bess.  It  was  a  shack 
covered  with  black  tar  paper,  with  two  windows,  like 
square  eyes,  fronting  the  river  as  if  always  on  the 
watch  for  something.  Across  the  front  of  this  shack 
Dirty  Fingers  had  built  a  porch  to  protect  himself 
from  the  rain  in  springtime,  from  the  sun  in  Summer 
time,  and  from  the  snow  in  the  months  of  Winter. 
For  it  was  here  that  Dirty  Fingers  sat  out  all  of  that 
part  of  his  life  which  was  not  spent  in  bed. 

Up  and  down  two  thousand  miles  of  the  Three 
Rivers  was  Dirty  Fingers  known,  and  there  were 
superstitious  ones  who  believed  that  little  gods  and 
devils  came  to  sit  and  commune  with  him  in  the  front 
of  the  tar-papered  shack.  No  one  was  so  wise  along 
those  rivers,  no  one  was  so  satisfied  with  himself, 
that  he  would  not  have  given  much  to  possess  the 

123 


124       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

many  trrngs  that  were  hidden  away  in  Dirty  Fingers' 
brain.  One  would  not  have  suspected  the  workings 
of  that  brain  by  a  look  at  Dirty  Fingers  on  the  porch 
01  his  Good  Old  Queen  Bess.  He  was  a  great  soft 
lump  of  a  man,  a  giant  of  flabbiness.  Sitting  in  his 
smooth-worn,  wooden  armchair,  he  was  almost  form 
less.  His  head  was  huge,  his  hair  uncut  and  scraggy, 
his  face  smooth  as  a  baby's,  fat  as  a  cherub's,  and  as 
expressionless  as  an  apple.  His  folded  arms  always 
rested  on  a  huge  stomach,  whose  conspicuousness  was 
increased  by  an  enormous  watch-chain  made  from 
beaten  nuggets  of  Klondike  gold,  and  Dirty  Fingers' 
thumb  and  forefinger  were  always  twiddling  at  this 
chain.  How  he  had  come  by  the  name  of  Dirty  Fin 
gers,  when  his  right  name  was  Alexander  Toppet 
Fingers,  no  one  could  definitely  say,  unless  it  was 
that  he  always  bore  an  unkempt  and  unwashed  ap 
pearance. 

Whatever  the  quality  of  the  two  hundred  and  forty- 
odd  pounds  of  flesh  in  Dirty  Fingers'  body,  it  was 
the  quality  of  his  brain  that  made  people  hold  him  in 
a  sort  of  awe.  For  Dirty  Fingers  was  a  lawyer,  a 
wilderness  lawyer,  a  forest  bencher,  a  legal  strategist 
of  the  trail,  of  the  river,  of  the  great  tirnber-lands. 

Stored  away  in  his  brain  was  every  rule  of  equity 
and  common  law  of  the  great  North  country.  For  his 
knowledge  he  went  back  two  hundred  years.  He 
knew  that  a  law  did  not  die  of  age,  that  it  must  be 
legislated  to  death,  and  out  of  the  moldering  past  he 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        125 

had  dug  up  every  trick  and  trap  of  his  trade.  He 
had  no  law-books.  His  library  was  in  his  head,  and 
his  facts  were  marshaled  in  pile  after  pile  of  closely- 
written,  dust-covered  papers  in  his  shack.  He  did 
not  go  to  court  as  other  lawyers;  and  there  were 
barristers  in  Edmonton  who  blessed  him  for  that. 

His  shack  was  his  tabernacle  of  justice.  There  he 
sat,  hands  folded,  and  gave  out  his  decisions,  his  ad 
vice,  his  sentences.  He  sat  until  other  men  would 
have  gone  mad.  From  morning  until  night,  moving 
only  for  his  meals  or  to  get  out  of  heat  or  storm, 
he  was  a  fixture  on  the  porch  of  the  Good  Old  Queen 
Bess.  For  hours  he  would  stare  at  the  river,  his 
pale  eyes  never  seeming  to  blink.  For  hours  he  would 
remain  without  a  move  or  a  word.  One  constant 
companion  he  had,  a  dog,  fat,  emotionless,  lazy,  like 
his  master.  Always  this  dog  was  sleeping  at  his  feet 
or  dragging  himself  wearily  at  his  heels  when  Dirty 
Fingers  elected  to  make  a  journey  to  the  little  store 
where  he  bartered  for  food  and  necessities. 

It  was  Father  Layonne  who  came  first  to  see  Kent 
in  his  cell  the  morning  after  Kent's  unsuccessful  at 
tempt  at  flight.  An  hour  later  it  was  Father  Layonne 
who  traveled  the  beaten  path  to  the  door  of  Dirty 
Fingers'  shack.  If  a  visible  emotion  of  pleasure  ever 
entered  into  Dirty  Fingers'  face,  it  was  when  the  lit 
tle  missioner  came  occasionally  to  see  him.  It  was 
then  that  his  tongue  let  itself  loose,  and  until  late  at 
night  they  talked  of  many  things  of  which  other  men 


126       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

knew  but  little.  This  morning  Father  Layonne  did 
not  come  casually,  but  determinedly  on  business,  and 
when  Dirty  Fingers  learned  what  that  business  was, 
he  shook  his  head  disconsolately,  folded  his  fat  arms 
more  tightly  over  his  stomach,  and  stated  the  sheer 
impossibility  of  his  going  to  see  Kent.  It  was  not  his 
custom.  People  must  come  to  him.  And  he  did  not 
like  to  walk.  It  was  fully  a  third  of  a  mile  from  his 
shack  to  barracks,  possibly  half  a  mile.  And  it  was 
mostly  upgrade!  If  Kent  could  be  brought  to 

him 

In  his  cell  Kent  waited.  It  was  not  difficult  for 
him  to  hear  voices  in  Kedsty's  office  when  the  door 
was  open,  and  he  knew  that  the  Inspector  did  not 
come  in  until  after  the  missioner  had  gone  on  his 
mission  to  Dirty  Fingers.  Usually  he  was  at  the 
barracks  an  hour  or  so  earlier.  Kent  made  no  effort 
to  figure  out  a  reason  for  Kedsty's  lateness,  but  he 
did  observe  that  after  his  arrival  there  was  more  than 
the  usual  movement  between  the  office  door  and  the 
outside  of  the  barracks.  Once  he  was  positive  that 
he  heard  Cardigan's  voice,  and  then  he  was  equally 
sure  that  he  heard  Mercer's.  He  grinned  at  that.  He 
must  be  wrong,  for  Mercer  would  be  in  no  condition 
to  talk  for  several  days.  He  was  glad  that  a  turn  in 
the  hall  hid  the  door  of  the  detachment  office  from 
him,  and  that  the  three  cells  were  in  an  alcove,  safely 
out  of  sight  of  the  curious  eyes  of  visitors.  He  was 
also  glad  that  he  had  no  other  prisoner  for  company. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        127 

His  situation  was  one  in  which  he  wanted  to  be  alone. 
To  the  plan  that  was  forming  itself  in  his  mind, 
solitude  was  as  vital  as  the  cooperation  of  Alexander 
Toppet  Fingers. 

Just  how  far  he  could  win  that  cooperation  was  the 
problem  which  confronted  him  now,  and  he  waited 
anxiously  for  the  return  of  Father  Layonne,  listening 
for  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  in  the  outer  hall.  If, 
after  all,  that  inspirational  thought  of  last  night  came 
to  nothing,  if  Fingers  should  fail  him 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  If  that  happened,  he 
could  see  no  other  chance.  He  would  have  to  go  on 
and  take  his  medicine  at  the  hands  of  a  jury.  But 
if  Fingers  played  up  to  the  game 

He  looked  out  on  the  river  again,  and  again  it  was 
the  river  that,  seemed  to  answer  him.  If  Fingers 
played  with  him,  they  would  beat  Kedsty  and  the 
whole  of  N  Division!  And  in  winning  he  would 
prove  out  the  greatest  psychological  experiment  he  had 
ever  dared  to  make.  The  magnitude  of  the  thing, 
when  he  stopped  to  think  of  it,  was  a  little  appalling, 
but  his  faith  was  equally  large.  He  did  not  consider 
his  philosophy  at  all  supernatural.  He  had  brought 
it  down  to  the  level  of  the  average  man  and  woman. 

He  believed  that  every  man  and  woman  possessed  a 
subliminal  consciousness  which  it  was  possible  to 
rouse  to  tremendous  heights  if  the  right  psycholog 
ical  key  was  found  to  fit  its  particular  lock,  and  he» 
believed  he  possessed  the  key  which  fitted  the  deeply- 


128       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

buried  and  long-hidden  thing  in  Dirty  Fingers'  re 
markable  brain.  Because  he  believed  in  this  meta 
physics  which  he  had  not  read  out  of  Aristotle,  he 
had  faith  that  Fingers  would  prove  his  salvation.  He 
felt  growing  in  him  stronger  than  ever  a  strange  kind 
of  elation.  He  felt  better  physically  than  last  night. 
The  few  minutes  of  strenuous  action  in  which  he  had 
half  killed  Mercer  had  been  a  pretty  good  test,  he  told 
himself.  It  had  left  no  bad  effect,  and  he  need  no 
longer  fear  the  reopening  of  his  wound. 

A  dozen  times  he  had  heard  a  far  door  open  and 
close.  Now  he  heard  it  again,  and  a  few  moments 
later  it  was  followed  by  a  sound  which  drew  a  low 
cry  of  satisfaction  from  him.  Dirty  Fingers,  because 
of  overweight  and  lack  of  exercise,  had  what  he 
called  an  "asthmatic  wind/'  and  it  was  this  strenuous 
working  of  his  lungs  that  announced  his  approach  to 
Kent.  His  dog  was  also  afflicted  and  for  the  same 
reasons,  so  that  when  they  traveled  together  there  was 
some  rivalry  between  them. 

"We're  both  bad  put  out  for  wind,  thank  God," 
Dirty  Fingers  would  say  sometimes.  "It's  a  good 
thing,  for  if  we  had  more  of  it,  we'd  walk  farther, 
and  we  don't  like  walking." 

The  dog  was  with  Fingers  now,  also  Father  La- 
yonne,  and  Pelly.  Pelly  unlocked  the  cell,  then  re- 
locked  it  again  after  Fingers  and  the  dog  entered. 
With  a  nod  and  a  hopeful  look  the  missioner  returned 
with  Pelly  to  the  detachment  of  ice.  Fingers  wiped 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        129 

his  red  face  with  a  big  handkerchief,  gasping  deeply 
for  breath.  Togs,  his  dog,  was  panting  as  if  he  had 
just  finished  the  race  of  his  life. 

"A  difficult  climb,"  wheezed  Fingers.  "A  most 
difficult  climb." 

He  sat  down,  rolling  out  like  a  great  bag  of  jelly 
in  the  one  chair  in  the  cell,  and^began  to  fan  himself 
with  his  hat.  Kent  had  already  taken  stock  of  the 
situation.  In  Fingers'  florid  countenance  and  in  his 
almost  colorless  eyes  he  detected  a  bit  of  excitement 
which  Fingers  was  trying  to  hide.  Kent  knew  what 
it  meant.  Father  Layonne  had  found  it  necessary  to 
play  his  full  hand  to  lure  Fingers  up  the  hill,  and 
had  given  him  a  hint  of  what  it  was  that  Kent  had 
in  store  for  him.  Already  the  psychological  key  had 
begun  to  work. 

Kent  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  cot  and  grinned 
sympathetically.  "It  hasn't  always  been  like  this,  has 
it,  Fingers?"  he  said  then,  leaning  a  bit  forward  and 
speaking  with  a  sudden,  low-voiced  seriousness. 
'There  was  a  time,  twenty  years  ago,  when  you  didn't 
puff  after  climbing  a  hill.  Twenty  years  make  a  big 
difference,  sometimes." 

"Yes,  sometimes,"  agreed  Fingers  in  a  wheezy 
whisper. 

"Twenty  years  ago  you  were — a  fighter." 

It  seemed  to  Kent  that  a  deeper  color  came  into 
Dirty  Fingers'  pale  eyes  in  the  few  seconds  that  fol 
lowed  these  words. 


130       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"A  fighter/'  he  repeated.  "Most  men  were  fighters 
in  those  days  of  the  gold  rushes,  weren't  they,  Fin 
gers?  I've  heard  a  lot  of  the  old  stories  about  them 
in  my  wanderings,  and  some  of  them  have  made  me 
thrill.  They  weren't  afraid  to  die.  And  most  of  them 
were  pretty  white  when  it  came  to  a  show-down.  You 
were  one  of  them,  Fingers.  I  heard  the  story  one 
Winter  far  north.  I've  kept  it  to  myself,  because  I've 
sort  of  had  the  idea  that  you  didn't  want  people  to 
know  or  you  would  have  told  it  yourself.  That's 
why  I  wanted  you  to  come  to  see  me,  Fingers.  You 
know  the  situation.  It's  either  the  noose  or  iron  bars 
for  me.  Naturally  one  would  seek  for  assistance 
among  those  who  have  been  his  friends.  But  I  do 
not,  with  the  exception  of  Father  Layonne.  Just 
friendship  won't  save  me,  not  the  sort  of  friendship 
we  have  today.  That's  why  I  sent  for  you.  Don't 
think  that  I  am  prying  into  secrets  that  are  sacred 
to  you,  Fingers.  God  knows  I  don't  mean  it  that  way. 
But  I've  got  to  tell  you  of  a  thing  that  happened  a 
long  time  ago,  before  you  can  understand.  You 
haven't  forgotten — you  will  never  forget — Ben  Tat- 
man?" 

As  Kent  spoke  the  name,  a  name  which  Dirty  Fin 
gers  had  heard  no  lips  but  his  own  speak  aloud  in 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century,  a  strange  and  potent 
force  seemed  suddenly  to  take  possession  of  the  for 
est  bencher's  huge  and  flabby  body.  It  rippled  over 
and  through  him  like  an  electrical  voltaism,  making 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        131 

his  body  rigid,  stiffening  what  had  seemed  to  be  fat 
into  muscle,  tensing  his  hands  until  they  knotted  them 
selves  slowly  into  fists.  The  wheeze  went  out  of  his 
breath,  and  it  was  the  voice  of  another  man  who  an 
swered  Kent. 

"You  have  heard — about — Ben  Tatman?" 
"Yes.  I  heard  it  away  up  in  the  Porcupine  country. 
They  say  it  happened  twenty  years  ago  or  more.  This 
Tatman,  so  I  was  told,  was  a  young  fellow  green 
from  San  Francisco — a  bank  clerk,  I  think — who 
came  into  the  gold  country  and  brought  his  wife  with 
him.  They  were  both  chuck-full  of  courage,  and  the 
story  was  that  each  worshiped  the  ground  the  other 
walked  on,  and  that  the  girl  had  insisted  on  being  her 
husband's  comrade  in  adventure.  Of  course  neither 
guessed  the  sort  of  thing  that  was  ahead  of  them. 
"Then  came  that  death  Winter  in  Lost  City.  You 
know  better  than  I  what  the  laws  were  in  those  days, 
Fingers.  Food  failed  to  come  up.  Snow  came  early, 
the  thermometer  never  rose  over  fifty  below  zero  for 
three  straight  months,  and  Lost  City  was  an  inferno 
of  starvation  and  death.  You  could  go  out  and  kill 
a  man,  then,  and  perhaps  get  away  with  it,  Fingers. 
But  if  you  stole  so  much  as  a  crust  of  bread  or  a 
single  bean,  you  were  taken  to  the  edge  of  the  camp 
and  told  to  go !  And  that  meant  certain  death — death 
from  hunger  and  cold,  more  terrible  than  shooting  or 
hanging,  and  for  that  reason  it  was  the  penalty  for 
theft. 


132       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"Tatman  wasn't  a  thief.  It  was  seeing  his  young 
wife  slowly  dying  of  hunger,  and  his  horror  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  her  fall,  as  others  were  falling,  a 
victim  to  scurvy,  that  made  him  steal.  He  broke  into 
a  cabin  in  the  dead  of  night  and  stole  two  cans  of 
beans  and  a  pan  of  potatoes,  more  precious  than  a 
thousand  times  their  weight  in  gold.  And  he  was 
caught.  Of  course,  there  was  the  wife.  But  those 
were  the  days  when  a  woman  couldn't  save  a  man, 
no  matter  how  lovely  she  was.  Tatman  was  taken 
to  the  edge  of  camp  and  given  his  pack  and  his 
gun — but  no  food.  And  the  girl,  hooded  and  booted, 
was  at  his  side,  for  she  was  determined  to  die  with 
him.  For  her  sake  Tatman  had  lied  up  to  the  last 
minute,  protesting  his  innocence. 

"But  the  beans  and  the  potatoes  were  found  in  his 
cabin,  and  that  \vas  evidence  enough.  And  then,  just 
as  they  were  about  to  go  straight  out  into  the  blizzard 
that  meant  death  within  a  few  hours,  then " 

Kent  rose  to  his  feet,  and  walked  to  the  little  win 
dow,  and  stood  there,  looking  out.  "Fingers,  now 
and  then  a  superman  is  born  on  earth.  And  a  super 
man  was  there  in  that  crowd  of  hunger-stricken  and 
embittered  men.  At  the  last  moment  he  stepped  out 
and  in  a  loud  voice  declared  that  Tatman  was  inno 
cent  and  that  he  was  guilty.  Unafraid,  he  made  a 
remarkable  confession.  He  had  stolen  the  beans  and 
the  potatoes  and  had  slipped  them  into  the  Tatman 
cabin  when  they  were  asleep.  Why?  Because  he 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        133 

wanted  to  save  the  woman  from  hunger!  Yes,  he 
lied,  Fingers.  He  lied  because  he  loved  the  wife  that 
belonged  to  another  man — lied  because  in  him  there 
was  a  heart  as  true  as  any  heart  God  ever  made.  He 
lied !  And  his  lie  was  a  splendid  thing.  He  went  out 
into  that  blizzard,  strengthened  by  a  love  that  was 
greater  than  his  fear  of  death,  and  the  camp  never 
heard  of  him  again.  Tatman  and  his  wife  returned 

to  their  cabin  and  lived.  Fingers "  Kent  whirled 

suddenly  from  the  window.  "Fingers " 

And  Fingers,  like  a  sphynx,  sat  and  stared  at 
Kent. 

"You  were  that  man,"  Kent  went  on,  coming  nearer 
to  him.  "You  lied,  because  you  loved  a  woman,  and 
you  went  out  to  face  death  because  of  that  woman. 
The  men  at  Lost  City  didn't  know  it,  Fingers.  The 
husband  didn't  know  it.  And  the  girl,  that  girl-wife 
you  worshiped  in  secret,  didn't  dream  of  it !  But  that 
was  the  truth,  and  you  know  it  deep  down  in  your 
soul.  You  fought  your  way  out.  You  lived!  And 
all  these  years,  down  here  on  your  porch,  you've  been 
dreaming  of  a  woman,  of  the  girl  you  were  willing  to 
die  for  a  long  time  ago.  Fingers,  am  I  right?  And  if 
I  am,  will  you  shake  hands?" 

Slowly  Fingers  had  risen  from  his  chair.  No  long 
er  were  his  eyes  dull  and  lifeless,  but  flaming  with  a 
fire  that  Kent  had  lighted  again  after  many  years. 
And  he  reached  out  a  hand  and  gripped  Kent's,  still 


i34       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

staring  at  him  as  though  something  had  come  back 
to  him  from  the  dead. 

"I  thank  you,  Kent,  for  your  opinion  of  that  man," 
he  said.  "Somehow,  you  haven't  made  me — ashamed. 
But  it  was  only  the  shell  of  a  man  that  won  out  after 
that  day  when  I  took  Tatman's  place.  Something 
happened.  I  don't  know  what.  But — you  see  me 
now.  I  never  went  back  into  the  diggings.  I  degen 
erated.  I  became  what  I  am." 

"And  you  are  today  just  what  you  were  when  you 
went  out  to  die  for  Mary  Tatman,"  cried  Kent.  "The 
same  heart  and  the  same  soul  are  in  you.  Wouldn't 
you  fight  again  today  for  her?" 

A  stifled  cry  came  from  Fingers'  lips.  "My  God, 
yes,  Kent — I  would!" 

"And  that's  why  I  wanted  you,  of  all  men,  to  come 
to  me,  Fingers,"  Kent  went  on  swiftly.  "To  you, 
pf  all  the  men  on  earth,  I  wanted  to  tell  my  story. 
And  now,  will  you  listen  to  it?  Will  you  forgive  me 
for  bringing  up  this  memory  that  must  be  precious 
to  you,  only  that  you  might  more  fully  understand 
what  I  am  going  to  say?  I  don't  want  you  to  think 
of  it  as  a  subterfuge  on  my  part.  It  is  more  than  that. 
It  is Fingers,  is  it  inspiration?  Listen,  and  tell 


me." 


And  for  a  long  time  after  that  James  Kent  talked, 
and  Fingers  listened,  the  soul  within  him  writhing 
and  dragging  itself  back  into  fierce  life,  demanding 
for  the  first  time  in  many  years  the  something  which 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        135 

it  had  once  possessed,  but  which  it  had  lost.  It  was 
not  the  lazy,  mysterious,  silent  Dirty  Fingers  who 
sat  in  the  cell  with  Kent.  In  him  the  spirit  of  twenty 
years  ago  had  roused  itself  from  long  slumber,  and 
the  thrill  of  it  pounded  in  his  blood.  Two-Fisted 
Fingers  they  had  called  him  then,  and  he  was  Two- 
Fisted  Fingers  in  this  hour  with  Kent.  Twice  Father 
Layonne  came  to  the  head  of  the  cell  alcove,  but 
turned  back  when  he  heard  the  low  and  steady  mur 
mur  of  Kent's  voice.  Nothing  did  Kent  keep  hidden, 
and  when  he  had  finished,  something  that  was  like  the 
fire  of  a  revelation  had  come  into  Fingers'  face. 

"My  God !"  he  breathed  deeply.  "Kent,  I've  been 
sitting  down  there  on  my  porch  a  long  time,  and  a 
good,  many  strange  things  have  come  to  me,  but  never 
anything  like  this.  Oh,  if  it  wasn't  for  this  accursed, 
flesh  of  mine!" 

He  jumped  from  his  chair  more  quickly  than  he 
had  moved  in  ten  years,  and  he  laughed  as  he  had  not 
laughed  in  all  that  time.  He  thrust  out  a  great  arm 
and  doubled  it  up,  like  a  prizefighter  testing  his  mus 
cle,  "Old?  I'm  not  old!  I  was  only  twenty-eight 
when  that  happened  up  there,  and  I'm  forty-eight 
now.  That  isn't  old.  It's  what  is  in  me  that's  grown 
old.  I'll  do  it,  Kent!  I'll  do  it,  if  I  hang  for  it!" 

Kent  fairly  leaped  upon  him.  "God  bless  you!'* 
he  cried  huskily.  "God  bless  you,  Fingers!  Look* 
Look  at  that!"  He  pulled  Fingers  to  the  little  win 
dow,  and  together  they  looked  out  upon  the  river, 


136       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

shimmering  gloriously  under  a  sun-filled  sky  of  blue. 
<:Two  thousand  miles  of  it,"  he  breathed.  "Two  thou 
sand  miles  of  it,  running  straight  through  the  heart 
of  that  world  we  both  have  known!  No,  you're  not 
old,  Fingers.  The  things  you  used  to  know  are  call 
ing  you  again,  as  they  are  calling  me,  for  somewhere 
off  there  are  the  ghosts  of  Lost  City,  ghosts — and 
realities !" 

"Ghosts — and  hopes,"  said  Fingers. 

"Hopes  make  life,"  softly  whispered  Kent,  as  if 
to  himself.  And  then,  without  turning  from  the  win 
dow,  his  hand  found  Fingers'  and  clasped  it  tight. 
"It  may  be  that  mine,  like  yours,  will  never  come 
true.  But  they're  fine  to  think  about,  Fingers.  Fun 
ny,  isn't  it,  that  their  names  should  be  so  strangely 
alike — Mary  and  Marette?  I  say,  Fingers " 

Heavy  footsteps  sounded  in  the  hall.  Both  turned 
from  the  window  as  Constable  Pelly  came  to  the  door 
of  the  cell.  They  recognized  this  intimation  that  their 
time  was  up,  and  with  his  foot  Fingers  roused  his 
sleeping  dog. 

It  was  a  new  Fingers  who  walked  back  to  the  river 
five  minutes  later,  and  it  was  an  amazed  arid  discom 
fited  dog  who  followed  at  his  heels,  for  at  times  the 
misshapen  and  flesh-ridden  Togs  was  compelled  to 
trot  for  a  few  steps  to  keep  up.  And  Fingers  did  not 
sink  into  the  chair  on  the  shady  porch  when  he  reached 
his  shack.  He  threw  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        137 

rolled  up  his  sleeves,  and  for  hours  after  that  he  was 
buried  deep  in  the  accumulated  masses  of  dust-cov 
ered  legal  treasures  stored  away  in  hidden  corners  of 
the  Good  Old  Queen  Bess. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THAT  morning  Kent  had  heard  wild  songs  floating 
up  from  the  river,  and  now  he  felt  like  shouting 
forth  his  own  joy  and  exultation  in  song.  He  wondered 
if  he  could  hide  the  truth  from  the  eyes  of  others, 
and  especially  from  Kedsty  if  he  came  to  see  him.  It 
seemed  that  some  glimmer  of  the  hope  blazing  within 
him  must  surely  reveal  itself,  no  matter  how  he  tried 
to  hold  it  back.  He  felt  the  vital  forces  of  that  hope 
more  powerful  within  him  now  than  in  the  hour  when 
he  had  crept  from  the  hospital  window  with  freedom 
in  his  face.  For  then  he  was  not  sure  of  himself.  He 
had  not  tested  his  physical  strength.  And  in  the  pres 
ent  moment,  fanned  by  his  unbounded  optimism,  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  perhaps  it  was  good  luck 
and  not  bad  that  had  thrown  Mercer  in  his  way.  For 
with  Fingers  behind  him  now, 'his  chances  for  a  clean 
get-away  were  better.  He  would  not  be  taking  a  haz 
ardous  leap  chanced  on  the  immediate  smiles  of  for 
tune.  He  would  be  going  deliberately,  prepared. 

He  blessed  the  man  who  had  been  known  as  Dirty 
Fingers,  but  whom  he  could  not  think  of  now  in  the 
terms  of  that  name.  He  blessed  the  day  he  had  heard 
that  chance  story  of  Fingers,  far  north.  He  no  longer 
regarded  him  as  the  fat  pig  of  a  man  he  had  been  for 

138 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        139 

so  many  years.  For  he  looked  upon  the  miracle  of  a 
great  awakening.  He  had  seen  the  soul  of  Fingers 
lift  itself  up  out  of  its  tabernacle  of  flesh  and  grow 
young  again;  he  had  seen  stagnant  blood  race  with 
new  fire.  He  had  seen  emotions  roused  that  had  slept 
for  long  years.  And  he  felt  toward  Fingers,  in  the 
face  of  that  awakening,  differently  than  he  had  felt 
toward  any  other  living  man.  His  emotion  was  one 
of  deep  and  embracing  comradeship. 

Father  Layonne  did  not  come  again  until  afternoon, 
and  then  he  brought  information  that  thrilled  Kent. 
The  missioner  had  walked  down  to  see  Fingers,  and 
Fingers  was  not  on  his  porch.  Neither  was  the  dog. 
He  had  knocked  loudly  on  the  door,  but  there  was  no 
answer.  Where  was  Fingers?  Kent  shook  his  head, 
feigning  an  anxious  questioning,  but  inside  him  his 
heart  was  leaping.  He  knew!  He  told  Father  La 
yonne  he  was  afraid  all  Fingers*  knowledge  of  the 
law  could  do  him  but  little  good,  that  Fingers  had 
told  him  as  much,  and  the  little  missioner  went  away 
considerably  depressed.  He  would  talk  with  Fingers 
again,  he  said,  and  offer  certain  suggestions  he  had  in 
mind.  Kent  chuckled  when  he  was  gone.  How 
shocked  le  Pere  would  be  if  he,  too,  could  know! 

The  next  morning  Father  Layonne  came  again,  and 
his  information  was  even  more  thrilling  to  Kent.  The 
missioner  was  displeased  with  Fingers.  Last  night, 
noticing  a  light  in  his  shack,  he  had  walked  down  to 
see  him.  And  he  had  found  three  men  closely  drawn 


140       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

up  about  a  table  with  Dirty  Fingers.  One  of  them 
was  Ponte,  the  half-breed;  another  was  Kinoo  the 
outcast  Dog  Rib  from  over  on  Sand  Creek;  the  third 
was  Mooie,  the  old  Indian  trailer.  Kent  wanted  to 
jump  up  and  shout,  for  those  three  were  the  three 
greatest  trailers  in  all  that  part  of  the  Northland.  Fin 
gers  had  lost  no  time,  and  he  wanted  to  voice  his  ap 
probation  like  a  small  boy  on  the  Fourth  of  July. 

But  his  face,  seen  by  Father  Layonne,  betrayed  none 
of  the  excitement  that  was  in  his  blood.  Fingers  had 
told  him  he  was  going  into  a  timber  deal  with  these 
men,  a  long-distance  deal  where  there  would  be  much 
traveling,  and  that  he  could  not  interrupt  himself  just 
then  to  talk  about  Kent.  Would  Father  Layonne 
come  again  in  the  morning?  And  he  had  gone  again 
that  morning,  and  Fingers'  place  was  locked  up ! 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  Kent  waited  eagerly  for  Fin 
gers.  For  the  first  time  Kedsty  came  to  see  him,  and 
as  a  matter  of  courtesy  said  he  hoped  Fingers  might 
be  of  assistance  to  him.  He  did  not  mention  Mercer 
and  remained  no  longer  than  a  couple  of  minutes, 
standing  outside  the  cell.  In  the  afternoon  Doctor 
Cardigan  came  and  shook  hands  warmly  with  Kent. 
He  had  found  a  tough  job  waiting  for  him,  he  said. 
Mercer  was  all  cut  up,  in  a  literal  as  well  as  a  mental 
way.  He  had  five  teeth  missing,  and  he  had  to  have 
seventeen  stitches  taken  in  his  face.  It  was  Cardi 
gan's  opinion  that  some  one  had  given  him  a  consid- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        141 

erable  beating — and  he  grinned  at  Kent.  Then  he 
added  in  a  whisper, 

"My  God,  Kent,  how  I  wish  you  had  made  it !" 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Fingers  came.  Even  less 
than  yesterday  did  he  look  like  the  old  Fingers.  He 
was  not  wheezing1.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  flesh.  His 
face  was  alive.  That  was  what  struck  Kent — the 
new  life  in  it.  There  was  color  in  his  eyes.  And 
Togs,  the  dog,  was  not  with  him.  He  smiled  when 
he  shook  hands  with  Kent,  and  nodded,  and  chuckled. 
And  Kent,  after  that,  gripped  him  by  the  shoulders 
and  shook  him  in  his  silent  joy. 

"I  was  up  all  last  night/'  said  Fingers  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  don't  dare  move  much  in  the  day,  or  people 
will  wonder.  But,  God  bless  my  soul! — I  did  move 
last  night,  Kent.  I  must  have  walked  ten  miles,  more 
or  less.  And  things  are  coming — coming!" 

"And  Pbnte,  Kinoo,  Mooie ?" 

"Are  working  like  devils,"  whispered  Fingers.  "It's 
the  only  way,  Kent.  I've  gone  through  all  my  law, 
and  there's  nothing  in  man-made  law  that  can  save 
you.  I've  read  your  confession,  and  I  don't  think 
you  could  even  get  off  with  the  penitentiary.  A  noose 
is  already  tied  around  your  neck.  I  think  you'd  hang. 
We've  simply  got  to  get  you  out  some  other  way.  I've 
had  a  talk  with-Kedsty.  He  has  made  arrangements 
to  have  you  sent  to  Edmonton  two  weeks  from  to 
morrow.  We'll  need  all  that  time,  but  it's  enough." 

For  three  days  thereafter  Fingers  came  to  Kent's 


142       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

cell  each  afternoon,  and  each  time  was  looking  better. 
Something  was  swiftly  putting  hardness  into  his  flesh 
and  form  into  his  body.  The  second  day  he  told 
Kent  that  he  had  found  the  way  at  last,  and  that  when 
the  hour  came,  escape  would  be  easy,  but  he  thought 
it  best  not  to  let  Kent  in  on  the  little  secret  just  yet. 
He  must  be  patient  and  have  faith.  That  was  the 
chief  thing,  to  have  faith  at  all  times,  no  matter  what 
happened.  Several  times  he  emphasized  that  "no  mat 
ter  what  happens."  The  third  day  he  puzzled  Kent. 
He  was  restless,  a  bit  nervous.  He  still  thought  it 
best  not  to  tell  Kent  what  his  scheme  was,  until  to 
morrow.  He  was  in  the  cell  not  more  than  five  or 
ten  minutes,  and  there  was  an  unusual  pressure  in  the 
grip  of  his  hand  when  he  bade  Kent  good-by.  Some 
how  Kent  did  not  feel  so  well  when  he  had  gone. 

He  waited  impatiently  for  the  next  day.  It  came, 
and  hour  after  hour  he  listened  for  Fingers'  heavy 
tread  in  the  hall.  The  morning  passed.  The  after 
noon  lengthened.  Night  came,  and  Fingers  had  not 
come.  Kent  did  not  sleep  much  between  the  hour 
when  he  went  to  bed  and  morning.  It  was  eleven 
o'clock  when  the  missioner  made  his  call.  Before 
he  left,  Kent  gave  him  a  brief  note  for  Fingers.  He 
had  just  finished  his  dinner,  and  Carter  had  taken  the 
dishes  away,  when  Father  Layonne  returned.  A  look 
at  his  face,  and  Kent  knew  that  he  bore  unpleasant 
tidings. 

"Fingers  is   an — an   apostate,"    he   said,   his   lips 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        143 

twitching  as  if  to  keep  back  a  denunciation  still  more 
emphatic.  "He  was  sitting  on  his  porch  again  this 
morning,  half  asleep,  and  says  that  after  a  great  deal 
of  thought  he  has  come  to  the  definite  opinion  that 
he  can  do  nothing  for  you.  He  read  your  note  and 
burned  it  with  a  match.  He  asked  me  to  tell  you 
that  the  scheme  he  had  in  mind  was  too  risky — for 
him.  He  says  he  won't  come  up  again.  And " 

The  missioner  was  rubbing  his  brown,  knotted 
hands  together  raspingly. 

"Go  on,"  said  Kent  a  little  thickly. 

"He  has  also  sent  Inspector  Kedsty  the  same  word," 
finished  Father  Layonne.  "His  word  to  Kedsty  is 
that  he  can  see  no  fighting  chance  for  you,  and  that 
it  is  useless  effort  on  his  part  to  put  up  a  defense 
for  you.  Jimmy!"  His  hand  touched  Kent's  arm 
gently. 

Kent's  face  was  white.  He  faced  the  window,  and 
for  a  space  he  did  not  see.  Then  with  pencil  and  pa 
per  he  wrote  again  to  Fingers. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Father  Layonne 
returned  with  an  answer.  Again  it  was  verbal.  Fin 
gers  had  read  his  note  and  had  burned  it  with  a 
match.  He  was  particular  that  the  last  scrap  of  it 
was  turned  into  ash,  the  missioner  said.  And  he  had 
nothing  to  say  to  Kent  that  he  had  not  previously  said. 
He  simply  could  not  go  on  with  their  plans.  And 
he  requested  Kent  not  to  write  to  him  again.  He  was 
sorry,  but  that  was  his  definite  stand  in  the  matter. 


144       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Even  then  Kent  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe. 
All  the  rest  of  the  day  he  tried  to  put  himself  in  Fin 
gers'  brain,  but  his  old  trick  of  losing  his  personality 
in  that  of  another  failed  him  this  time.  He  could  find 
no  reason  for  the  sudden  change  in  Fingers,  unless  it 
was  what  Fingers  had  frankly  confessed  to  Father 
Layonne — fear.  The  influence  of  mind,  in  this  in 
stance,  had  failed  in  its  assault  upon  a  mass  of  matter. 
Fingers'  nerve  had  gone  back  on  him. 

The  fifth  day  Kent  rose  from  his  cot  with  hope  still 
not  quite  dead  in  his  heart.  But  that  day  passed  and 
the  sixth,  and  the  missioner  brought  word  that  Fingers 
was  the  old  Dirty  Fingers  again,  sitting  from  morn 
ing  till  night  on  his  porch. 

On  the  seventh  day  came  the  final  crash  to  Kent's 
hopes.  Kedsty's  program  had  changed.  He,  Kent, 
was  to  start  for  Edmonton  the  following  morning 
under  charge  of  Pelly  and  a  special  constable ! 

After  this  Kent  felt  a  strange  change  come  over 
him.  Years  seemed  to  multiply  themselves  in  his 
body.  His  mind,  beaten  back,  no  longer  continued 
in  its  old  channels  of  thought.  The  thing  pressed 
upon  him  now  as  fatalistic.  Fingers  had  failed  him. 
Fortune  had  failed  him.  Everything  had  failed,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  the  weeks  of  his  struggle  against 
death  and  a  thing  worse  than  death,  he  cursed  himself. 
There  was  a  limit  to  optimism  and  a  limit  to  hope. 
His  limit  was  reached. 

In  the  afternoon  of  this  seventh  day  came  a  de~ 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        145 

pressing  gloom.  It  was  filled  with  a  drizzling  rain. 
Hour  after  hour  this  drizzle  kept  up,  thickening  as 
the  night  came.  He  ate  his  supper  by  the  light  of 
a  cell  lamp.  By  eight  o'clock  it  was  black  outside. 
In  that  blackness  there  was  an  occasional  flash  of 
lightning  and  rumble  of  thunder.  On  the  roof  of  the 
barracks  the  rain  beat  steadily  and  monotonously. 

His  watch  was  in  his  hand — it  was  a  quarter  after 
nine  o'clock,  when  he  heard  the  door  at  the  far  exit 
of  the  hall  open  and  close.  He  had  heard  it  a  dozen 
times  since  supper  and  paid  no  attention  to  it,  but  this 
time  it  was  followed  by  a  voice  at  the  detachment 
office  that  hit  him  like  an  electrical  shock.  Then, 
a  moment  later,  came  low  laughter.  It  was  a  woman 
who  laughed. 

He  stood  up.  He  heard  the  detachment  office  door 
close,  and  silence  followed.  The  watch  in  his  hand 
seemed  ticking  off  the  seconds  with  frantic  noise.  He 
shoved  it  into  his  pocket  and  stood  staring  out  into 
the  prison  alcove.  A  few  minutes  later  the  office  door 
opened  again.  This  time  it  was  not  closed.  He  heard 
distinctly  a  few  light,  hesitating  footsteps,  and  his 
heart  seemed  to  stop  its  beating.  They  came  to  the 
head  of  the  lighted  alcove,  and  for  perhaps  the  space 
of  a  dozen  seconds  there  was  silence  again.  Then 
they  advanced. 

Another  moment,  and  Kent  was  staring  through 
the  bars  into  the  glorious  eyes  of  Marette  Radisson ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TN  that  moment  Kent  did  not  speak.  He  made  no 
•*•  sound.  He  gave  no  sign  of  welcome,  but  stood  in 
the  middle  of  his  cell,  staring.  If  life  had  hung  upon 
speech  in  those  few  seconds,  he  would  have  died,  but 
everything  he  would  have  said,  and  more,  was  in  his 
face.  The  girl  must  have  seen  it.  With  her  two  hands 
she  was  gripping  at  the  bars  of  the  cell  and  looking 
through  at  him.  Kent  saw  that  her  face  was  pale  in 
the  lamp  glow.  In  that  pallor  her  violet  eyes  were 
like  pools  of  black.  The  hood  of  her  dripping  rain 
coat  was  thrown  partly  back,  and  against  the  white 
ness  of  her  cheeks  her  hair  glistened  wet,  and  her  long 
lashes  were  heavy  with  the  rain. 

Kent,  without  moving  over  the  narrow  space  be 
tween  them,  reached  out  his  hands  and  found  his 
voice.  "Marette !" 

Her  hands  had  tightened  aj)out  the  bars  until  they 
were  bloodless.  Her  lips  were  parted.  She  was 
breathing  quickly,  but  she  did  not  smile;  she  made 
no  response  to  his  greeting,  gave  no  sign  even  of 
recognition.  What  happened  after  that  was  so  sud 
den  and  amazing  that  his  heart  stopped  dead  still. 
Without  warning  she  stepped  back  from  the  cell  and 
began  to  scream  and  then  drew  away  from  him,  still 

146 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        147 

facing  him  and  still  screaming,  as  if  something  had 
terrified  her. 

Kent  heard  the  crash  of  a  chair  in  the  detachment 
office,  excited  voices,  and  the  running  of  feet.  Mar- 
ette  Radisson  had  withdrawn  to  the  far  corner  of  the 
alcove,  and  as  Carter  and  Pelly  ran  toward  her,  she 
stood,  a  picture  of  horror,  pointing  at  Kent's  cell.  The 
two  constables  rushed  past  her.  Close  behind  them 
followed  the  special  officer  detailed  to  take  Kent  to 
Edmonton. 

Kent  had  not  moved.  He  was  like  one  petrified. 
Close  up  against  the  bars  came  the  faces  of  Pelly, 
Carter,  and  the  special  constable,  filled  with  the  ex 
pressions  of  men  who  had  expected  to  look  in  upon 
tragedy.  And  then,  behind  their  backs,  Kent  saw  the 
other  thing  happen.  Swift  as  a  flash  Marette  Radis- 
son's  hand  wrent  in  and  out  of  her  raincoat,  and  at  the 
backs  of  the  three  men  she  was  leveling  a  revolver! 
Not  only  did  Kent  see  that  swift  change,  but  the  still 
swifter  change  that  came  into  her  face.  Her  eyes  shot 
to  his  just  once,  and  they  were  filled  with  a  laughing, 
exultant  fire.  With  one  mighty  throb  Kent's  heart 
seemed  to  leap  out  through  the  bars  of  his  prison,  and 
at  the  look  in  his  face  and  eyes  Carter  swung  suddenly 
around. 

"Please  don't  make  any  disturbance,  gentlemen," 
said  Marette  Radisson.  "The  first  man  that  makes 
a  suspicious  move,  I  shall  kill !" 

Her  voice  was  calm  and  thrilling.    It  had  a  deadly 


148       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

ring*  in  it.  The  revolver  in  her  hand  was  held  steadily. 
It  was  a  slim-barreled,  black  thing.  The  very  color 
of  it  was  menacing.  And  behind  it  were  the  girl's 
eyes,  pools  of  flame.  The  three  men  were  facing  them 
now,  shocked  to  speechlessness.  Automatically  they 
seemed  to  obey  her  command  to  throw  up  their  hands. 
Then  she  leveled  her  grim  little  gun  straight  at  Felly's 
heart. 

"You  have  the  key,"  she  said.  "Unlock  the  cell!" 
Pelly  fumbled  and  produced  the  key.  She  watched 
him  closely.  Then  suddenly  the  special  constable 
dropped  his  arms  with  a  coarse  laugh.  "A  pretty 
trick,"  he  said,  "but  the  bluff  won't  work!" 

"Oh,  but  it  will!"  came  the  reply. 

The  little  black  gun  was  shifted  to  him,  even  as  the 
constable's  fingers  touched  his  revolver  holster.  With 
half -smiling-  lips,  Marette's  eyes  blazed  at  him. 

"Please  put  up  your  hands,"  she  commanded. 

The  Constable  hesitated;  then  his  fingers  gripped 
the  butt  of  his  gun.  Kent,  holding  his  breath,  saw  the 
almost  imperceptible  tensing  of  Marette's  body  and  the 
wavering  of  Felly's  arms  over  his  head.  Another 
moment  and  he,  too,  would  have  called  the  bluff  if  it 
were  that.  But  that  moment  did  not  come.  From  the 
slim,  black  barrel  of  the  girl's  revolver  leaped  forth  a 
sudden  spurt  of  smoke  and  flame,  and  the  special  con 
stable  lurched  back  against  the  cell  bars,  caught  him 
self  as  he  half  fell,  and  then  stood  with  his  pistol  arm 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        149 

hanging  limp  and  useless  ac  his  side.  He  had  not 
made  a  sound,  but  his  face  was  twisted  in  pain. 

"Open  the  cell  door!" 

A  second  time  the  deadly-looking  little  gun  was 
pointed  straight  at  Felly's  heart.  The  half-gmile 
was  gone  from  the  girl's  lips  now.  Her  eyes  blazed 
a  deeper  fire.  She  was  breathing  quickly,  and  she 
leaned  a  little  toward  Felly,  repeating  her  command. 
The  words  were  partly  drowned  in  a  sudden  crash  of 
thunder.  But  Felly  understood.  He  saw  her  lips 
form  the  words,  and  half  heard, 

"Open  the  door,  or  I  shall  kill  you !" 

He  no  longer  hesitated.  The  key  grated  in  the  lock, 
and  Kent  himself  flung  the  door  wide  open  and  sprang 
out.  He  was  quick  to  see  and  seize  upon  opportunity 
and  swift  to  act.  The  astounding  audacity  of  the  girl's 
ruse,  her  clever  acting  in  feigning  horror  to  line  the 
guards  up  at  the  cell  door  and  the  thrilling  decisive 
ness  with  which  she  had  used  the  little  black  gun  in 
her  hand  set  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  afire. 
No  sooner  was  he  outside  his  cell  than  he  was  the  old 
Jim  Kent,  fighting  man.  He  whipped  Carter's  auto 
matic  out  of  its  holster  and,  covering  Felly  and  the 
special  constable,  relieved  them  of  their  guns.  Be 
hind  him  he  heard  Marette's  voice,  calm  and  trium 
phant, 

"Lock  them  in  the  cell,  Mr.  Kent !" 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  swung  his  gun  on  Felly 
and  the  special  constable,  and  they  backed  through 


150       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  door  into  the  cell.  Carter  had  not  moved.  He  was 
looking  straight  at  the  girl,  and  the  little  black  gun 
was  leveled  at  his  breast.  Pelly  and  the  wounded  man 
did  not  see,  but  on  Carter's  lips  was  a  strange  smile. 
His  eyes  met  Kent's,  and  there  was  revealed  for  an 
instant  a  silent  flash  of  comradeship  and  an  unmis 
takable  something  else.  Carter  was  glad!  It  made 
Kent  want  to  reach  out  and  grip  his  hand,  but  in  place 
of  that  he  backed  him  into  the  cell,  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock,  and  with  the  key  in  his  hand  faced  Marette 
Radisson.  Her  eyes  were  shining  gloriously.  He  had 
never  seen  such  splendid,  fighting  eyes,  nor  the  birdlike 
swiftness  with  which  she  turned  and  ran  down  the 
hall,  calling  him  to  follow  her. 

He  was  only  a  step  behind  her  in  passing  Kedsty's 
office.  She  reached  the  outer  door  and  opened  it.  It 
was  pitch-dark  outside,  and  a  deluge  of  rain  beat  into 
their  faces.  He  observed  that  she  did  not  replace  the 
hood  of  her  raincoat  when  she  darted  out.  As  he 
closed  the  door,  her  hand  groped  to  his  arm  and  from 
that  found  his  hand.  Her  fingers  clung  to  his  tightly. 

He  did  not  ask  questions  as  they  faced  the  black 
chaos  of  rain.  A  rending  streak  of  lightning  revealed 
her  for  an  instant,  her  bare  head  bowed  to  the  wind. 
Then  came  a  crash  of  thunder  that  shook  the  earth 
under  their  feet,  and  her  fingers  closed  more  tightly 
about  his  hand.  And  in  that  crash  he  heard  her  voice, 
half  laughing,  half  broken,  saying, 

"I'm  afraid— of  thunder!" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        151 

In  that  storm  his  laugh  rang  out,  a  great,  free,  joy 
ous  laugh.  He  wanted  to  stop  in  that  instant,  sweep 
her  up  into  his  arms,  and  carry  her.  He  wanted  to 
shout  like  an  insane  man  in  his  mad  joy.  And  a 
moment  before  she  had  risked  everything  in  facing 
three  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  service  and  had  shot 
one  of  them!  He  started  to  say  something,  but  she 
increased  her  speed  until  she  was  almost  running. 

She  was  not  leading  Jim  in  the  direction  of  the 
river,  but  toward  the  forest  beyond  Kedsty's  bunga 
low.  Not  for  an  instant  did  she  falter  in  that  drenched 
and  impenetrable  darkness.  There  was  something 
imperative  in  the  clasp  of  her  ringers,  even  though  they 
tightened  perceptibly  when  the  thunder  crashed.  They 
gave  Kent  the  conviction  that  there  was  no  doubt  in 
her  mind  as  to  the  point  she  was  striving  for.  He 
took  advantage  of  the  lightning,  for  each  time  it  gave 
him  a  glimpse  of  her  bare,  wet  head  bowed  to  the 
storm,  her  white  profile,  and  her  slim  figure  fighting 
over  the  sticky  earth  under  her  feet. 

It  was  this  presence  of  her,  and  not  the  thought  of 
escape,  that  exalted  him  now.  She  was  at  his  side. 
Her  hand  lay  close  in  his.  The  lightning  gave  him 
glimpses  of  her.  He  felt  the  touch  of  her  shoulder, 
her  arm,  her  body,  as  they  drew  close  together.  The 
life  and  warmth  and  thrill  of  her  seemed  to  leap  into 
his  own  veins  through  the  hand  he  held.  He  had 
dreamed  of  her.  And  now  suddenly  she  had  become 
a  part  of  him,  and  the  glory  of  it  rode  overwhelmingly 


152       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

over  all  other  emotions  that  were  struggling  in  his 
brain — the  glory  of  the  thought  that  it  was  she  who 
had  come  to  him  in  the  last  moment,  who  had  saved 
him,  and  who  was  now  leading  him  to  freedom 
through  the  crash  of  st&rm. 

At  the  crest  of  a  low  knoll  between  barracks  and 
Kedsty's  bungalow  she  stopped  for  the  first  time.  He 
had  there,  again,  the  almost  irresistible  impulse  to 
reach  out  in  the  darkness  and  take  her  into  his  arms, 
crying  out  to  her  of  his  joy,  of  a  happiness  that  had 
come  to  him  greater  even  than  the  happiness  of  free 
dom.  But  he  stood,  holding  her  hand,  his  tongue 
speechless,  and  he  was  looking  at  her  when  the  light 
ning  revealed  her  again.  In  a  rending  flash  it  cut 
open  the  night  so  close  that  the  hiss  of  it  was  like  the 
passing  of  a  giant  rocket,  and  involuntarily  she  shrank 
against  him,  and  her  free  hand  caught  his  arm  at  the 
instant  thunder  crashed  low  over  their  heads.  His 
own  hand  groped  out,  and  in  the  blackness  it  touched 
for  an  instant  her  wet  face  and  then  her  drenched  hair. 

"Marette,"  he  cried,  "where  are  we  going?" 

"Down  there/'  came  her  voice. 

Her  hand  had  left  his  arm,  and  he  sensed  that  she 
was  pointing,  though  he  could  not  see.  Ahead  of  them 
was  a  chaotic  pit  of  gloom,  a  sea  of  blackness,  and  in 
the  heart  of  that  sea  he  saw  a  light.  He  knew  that  it 
was  a  lamp  in  one  of  Kedsty's  windows  and  that  Mar 
ette  was  guiding  herself  by  that  light  when  she  started 
down  the  slope  with  her  hand  still  in  his.  That  she 


THE  VALLEY 

had  made  no  effort 
J**»  of  the  almoj 
deluge  of  ^  that  beat 
had  gnpped  itself  con 
•  ch'ld  afraid  of 
"ashed  that  soft  hold  on 
Kent's  sou]  acclaimed 


about 


.     A  littk 
Pector's  bungalow 
ioubtedly  to  the  forest  tra  I 
lt  J         once  before   on?h 


uncon- 
t  of  the  fresh 
of  her  lingers 
'  thumb,  like 
^e  thunder 
%htened,  and 


Kent's  mind 
north  from  the  in_ 

y°U  3"d  ft  wa^  un- 
ch  she  had 

°f  the 


spo  .^ 

lng.  quest].ons_  Pon  bm  now,  immediate  de 

Iey  must  be  going  to  ^  ^«  go»g  to  the  river. 

MWjt  blazing  in  the  *&£"**  straigrht  toward 
«,  he  heard  in  the  SWe™'    The".  to  his  amaze- 
:«  fad  triumph,          ^  °f  St°™  her  voice  crying 
VVere  hornet 


H« 


or 


tf- 

i 


voice 


!    H. 


Her 
hard-run  for 


her  in  streams.     ^  <<And  x  am  afrmd  y 

"You  are  wet,    ^e  sd  ,„ 

will  catch  cold.    Come  £b  .£  -  ^  she 

A    in  She  was  ^JSJ,    She  turned  and 
fflade  fun  of  him  at  Card.g  she  w    ted 

ran  upstairs  behmd  to-    A  d  out  her  hand 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        155 

stair.  This  she  opened,  and  they  entered.  It  was 
dark  inside,  and  the  girl  withdrew  her  hand  again,  and 
Kent  heard  her  moving  across  the  room.  In  that  dark 
ness  a  new  and  thrilling  emotion  possessed  him.  The 
air  he  was  breathing  was  not  the  air  he  had  breathed 
in  the  hall.  In  it  was  the  sweet  scent  of  flowers,  and 
of  something  else — the  faint  and  intangible  perfume 
of  a  woman's  room.  He  waited,  staring.  His  eyes 
were  wide  when  a  match  leaped  into  flame  in  Marette's 
fingers.  Then  he  stood  in  the  glow  of  a  lamp. 

He  continued  to  stare  in  the  stupidity  of  a  shock  to 
which  he  was  not  accustomed.  Marette,  as  if  to  give 
him  time  to  acquaint  himself  with  his  environment, 
was  taking  off  her  raincoat.  Under  it  her  slim  little  fig 
ure  was  dry,  except  where  the  water  had  run  down 
from  her  uncovered  head  to  her  shoulders.  He  noticed 
that  she  wore  a  short  skirt,  and  boots,  adorably  small 
boots  of  splendidly  worked  caribou.  And  then  sud 
denly  she  came  toward  him  with  both  hands  reachirr> 
out  to  him. 

"Please  shake  hands  and  say  you're  glad,"  she  said. 
"Don't  look  so — so — frightened.  This  is  my  room 
and  you  are  safe  here." 

He  held  her  hands  tight,  staring  into  the  wonderful, 
violet  eyes  that  were  looking  at  him  with  the  frank 
and  unembarrassed  directness  of  a  child's.  "I — I  don't 
understand,"  he  struggled.  "Marette,  where  is  Ked- 
sty?" 

"He  should  be  returning  very  soon." 


156       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"And  he  knows  you  are  here,  of  course?" 
She  nodded.    "I  have  been  here  for  a  month." 
Kent's  hands  closed  tighter  about  hers.    "I — I  don't 
understand,"  he  repeated.    "Tonight  Kedsty  will  know 
that  it  was  you  who  rescued  me  and  you  who  shot 
Constable  Willis.    Good  God,  we  must  lose  no  time  in 
getting  away!" 

"There  is  great  reason  why  Kedsty  dare  not  betray 
my  presence  in  his  house,"  she  said  quietly.  "He 
would  die  first!  And  he  will  not  suspect  that  I  have 
brought  you  to  my  room,  that  an  escaped  murderer  is 
hiding  under  the  very  roof  of  the  Inspector  of  Police  I 
They  will  search  for  you  everywhere  but  here!  Isn't 
it  splendid?  He  planned  it  all,  every  move,  even  to 

the  screaming  in  front  of  your  cell " 

"You  mean — Kedsty?" 

She  withdrew  her  hands  and  stepped  back  from  him, 
and  again  he  saw  in  her  eyes  a  flash  of  the  fire  that 
had  come  into  them  when  she  leveled  her  gun  at  the 
three  Ihen  in  the  prison  alcove.  "No,  not  Kedsty.  He 
would  hang  you,  and  he  would  kill  me,  if  he  dared.  I- 
mean  that  great,  big,  funny-looking  friend  of  yours, 
M'sieu  Fingers!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE}  manner   in  which   Kent  stared  at   Marette 
Radisson  after  her  announcement  that  it  was 
Dirty  Fingers  who  had  planned  his  escape  must  have 
been,  he  thought  afterward,  little  less  than  imbecile. 
He  had  wronged  Fingers,  he  believed.    He  had  called 
him  a  coward  and  a  backslider.     In  his  mind  he  had 
reviled  him  for  helping  to  raise  his  hopes  to  the  high 
est  pitch,  only  to  smash  them  in  the  end.     And  all 
the  time  Dirty  Fingers  had  been  planning  this!    Kent 
began  to  grin.     The  thing  was  clear  in  a  moment — 
that   is,    the    immediate   situation   was    clear — or   he 
thought  it  was.     But  there  were  questions — one,  ten, 
a  hundred  of  them.    They  wanted  to  pile  over  the  end 
of  his  tongue,   questions  that  had  little  or  nothing 
to  do  with  Kedsty.    He  saw  nothing  now  but  Marette. 
.    She  had  begun  to  take  down  her  hair.    It  fell  about 
her  in  wet,  shining  masses.    Kent  had  never  seen  any 
thing  like  it.    It  clung  to  her  face,  her  neck,  her  shoul 
ders  and  arms,  and  shrouded  her  slender  body  to  her 
hips,  lovely  in  its  confusion.     Little  drops  of  water 
glistened  in  it  like  diamonds  in  the  lamp  glow,  trickling 
down  and  dropping  to  the  floor.    It  was  like  a  glowing 
coat  of  velvety  sable  beaten  by  storm.     Marette  ran 
her  arms  up  through  it,  shaking  it  out  in  clouds,  and 

157 


i5<S       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

a  mist  of  rain  leaped  out  from  it,  some  of  it  striking 
Kent  in  the  face.  He  forgot  Fingers.  He  forgot 
Kedsty.  His  brain  flamed  only  with  the  electrifying 
nearness  of  her.  It  was  the  thought  of  her  that  had 
inspired  the  greatest  hope  in  him.  It  was  his  dreams 
of  her,  somewhere  on  the  Big  River,  that  had  given 
him  his  great  courage  to  believe  in  the  ultimate  of 
things.  And  now  time  and  space  had  taken  a  leap 
backward.  She  was  not  four  or  five  hundred  miles 
north.  There  was  no  long  quest  ahead  of  him.  She 
was  here,  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  tossing  the  wet 
from  that  glorious  hair  he  had  yearned  to  touch, 
brushing  it  out  now,  with  her  back  toward  him,  in 
front  of  her  mirror. 

And  as  he  sat  there,  uttering  no  word,  looking  at 
her,  the  demands  of  the  immense  responsibility  that 
had  fallen  upon  him  and  of  the  great  fight  that  lay 
ahead  pounded  within  him  with  naked  fists.  Fingers 
had  planned.  She  had  executed.  It  was  up  to  him 
to  finish. 

He  saw  her,  not  as  a  creature  to  win,  but  as  a  price 
less  possession.  Her  fight  had  now  become  his  fight. 
The  rain  was  beating  against  the  window  near  him. 
Out  there  was  blackness,  the  river,  the  big  world.  His 
blood  leaped  with  the  old  fighting  fire.  They  wrere 
going  tonight;  they  must  be  going  tonight!  Why 
should  they  wait  ?  Why  should  they  waste  time  under 
Kedsty's  roof  when  freedom  lay  out  there  for  the  tak 
ing?  He  watched  the  swift  movements  of  her  hand, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        159 

listened  to  the  silken  rustle  of  the  brush  as  it  smoothed 
out  her  long  hair.  Bewilderment,  reason,  desire  for 
action  fought  inside  him. 

Suddenly  she  faced  him  again.  "It  has  just  this 
moment  occurred  to  me,"  she  said,  "that  you  haven't 
said  Thank  you.'  " 

So  suddenly  that  he  startled  her  he  was  at  her  side. 
He  did  not  hesitate  this  time,  as  he  had  hesitated  in 
his  room  at  Cardigan's  place.  He  caught  her  two 
hands  in  his,  and  with  them  he  felt  the  soft,  damp 
crush  of  her  hair  between  his  ringers.  Words  tumbled 
from  his  lips.  He  could  not  remember  afterward  all 
that  he  said.  Her  eyes  widened,  and  they  never  for 
an  instant  left  his  own.  Thank  her !  He  told  her  what 
had  happened  to  him — in  the  heart  and  soul  of  him — • 
from  the  hour  she  had  come  to  him  at  Cardigan's.  He 
told  her  of  dreams  and  plans,  of  his  determination  to 
find  her  again  after  he  had  escaped,  if  it  took  him 
all  his  life.  He  told  her  of  Mercer,  of  his  discovery 
•of  her  visit  to  Kim's  Bayou,  of  his  scheme  to  follow 
her  down  the  Three  Rivers,  to  seek  for  her  at  Fort 
Simpson,  to  follow  her  to  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men, 
wherever  it  was.  Thank  her!  He  held  her  hands  so 
tight  they  hurt,  and  his  voice  trembled.  Under  the 
cloud  of  her  hair  a  slow  fire  burned  in  Marette  Radis- 
son's  cheeks.  But  it  did  not  show  in  her  eyes.  They 
looked  at  him  so  steadily,  so  unfalteringly,  that  his 
own  face  burned  before  he  had  finished  what  was  in 


160       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

his  mind  to  say,  and  he  freed  her  hands  and  stepped 
back  from  her  again. 

"Forgive  me  for  saying  all  that/'  he  entreated.  "But 
it's  true.  You  came  to  me  there,  at  Cardigan's  place, 
like  something  I'd  always  dreamed  about,  but  never 
expected  to  find.  And  you  came  to  me  again,  at  the 
cell,  like " 

"Yes,  I  know  how  I  came,"  she  interrupted  him. 
"Through  the  mud  and  the  rain,  Mr.  Kent.  And  it 
was  so  black  I  lost  my  way  and  was  terrified  to  think 
that  I  might  not  find  barracks.  I  was  half  an  hour 
behind  Mr.  Fingers'  schedule.  For  that  reason  I 
think  Inspector  Kedsty  may  return  at  any  moment, 
and  you  must  not  talk  so  loud — or  so  much." 

"Lord!"  he  breathed  in  a  whisper.  "I  have  said  a 
lot  in  a  short  time,  haven't  I  ?  But  it  isn't  a  hundredth 
part  of  what  I  want  to  get  out  of  my  system.  I  won't 
ask  the  million  questions  that  want  to  be  asked.  But 
I  must  know  why  we  are  here.  Why  have  we  come 
to  Kedsty's?  Why  didn't  we  make  for  the  river? 
There  couldn't  be  a  better  night  to  get  away." 

"But  it  is  not  so  good  as  the  fifth  night  from  now 
will  be,"  she  said,  resuming  the  task  of  drying  her 
hair.  "On  that  night  you  may  go  to  the  river.  Our 
plans  were  a  little  upset,  you  know,  by  Inspector  Ked 
sty's  change  in  the  date  on  which  you  were  to  leave 
for  Edmonton.  Arrangements  have  been  made  so 
that  on  the  fifth  night  you  may  leave  safely." 

"And  you?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        161 

"I  shall  remain  here.'*  And  then  she  added  in  a 
low  voice  that  struck  his  heart  cold,  "I  shall  remain 
to  pay  Kedsty  the  price  which  he  will  ask  for  what  has 
happened  tonight." 

''Good  God !"  he  cried.    "Marette !" 

'She  turned  on  him  swiftly.  "No,  no,  I  don't  mean 
that  he  will  hurt  me,"  she  cried,  a  fierce  little  note 
in  her  voice.  "I  would  kill  him  before  that!  I'm 
sorry  I  told  you.  But  you  must  not  question  me.  You 
shall  not!" 

She  was  trembling.  He  had  never  seen  her  excited 
like  that  before,  and  as  she  stood  there  before  him, 
he  knew  that  he  was  not  afraid  for  Her  in  the  way 
that  had  flashed  into  his  mind.  She  had  not  spoken 
empty  words.  She  would  fight.  She  would  kill,  if  it 
was  necessary  to  kill.  And  he  saw  her,  all  at  once, 
as  he  had  not  seen  her  before.  He  remembered  a 
painting  which  he  had  seen  a  long  time  ago  in  Mon 
treal.  It  was  L'Esprit  de  la  Solitude— The  Spirit  of 
the  Wild — painted  by  Conne,  the  picturesque  French- 
Canadian  friend  of  Lord  Strathcona  and  Mount 
Royal,  and  a  genius  of  the  far  backwoods  who  had 
drawn  his  inspiration  from  the  heart  of  the  wilderness 
itself.  And  that  painting  stood  before  him  now  in 
flesh  and  blood,  its  crudeness  gone,  but  the  marvelous 
spirit  it  had  breathed  remaining.  Shrouded  in  her 
tumbled  hair,  her  lips  a  little  parted,  every  line  of 
her  slender  body  vibrant  with  an  emotion  which 
seemed  consuming  her,  her  beautiful  eyes  aglow  with 


1 62       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

its  fire,  he  saw  in  her,  as  Conne  must  have  seen  at 
another  time,  the  soul  of  the  great  North  itself.  She 
seemed  to  him  to  breathe  of  the  God's  country  far 
down  the  Three  Rivers ;  of  its  almost  savage  fearless 
ness  ;  its  beauty,  its  sunshine,  and  its  storm ;  its  tragedy, 
its  pathos,  and  its  song.  In  her  was  the  courage  and 
the  glory  of  that  North.  He  had  seen;  and  now  he 
felt  these  things,  and  the  thrill  of  them  swept  over 
him  like  an  inundation. 

He  had  heard  her  soft  laugh,  she  had  made  fun  of 
him  when  he  thought  he  was  dying;  she  had  kissed 
him,  she  had  fought  for  him,  she  had  clung  in  terror 
to  his  hand  wnen  the  lightning  flashed;  and  now  she 
stood  with  her  little  hands  clenched  in  her  hair,  like  a 
storm  about  to  break.  A  moment  ago  she  was  so  near 
that  he  had  almost  taken  her  in  his  arms.  Now,  in 
an  instant,  she  had  placed  something  so  vast  between 
them  that  he  would  not  have  dared  to  touch  her  hand 
or  her  hair.  Like  sun  and  cloud  and  wind  she  changed, 
and  for  him  each  change  added  to  the  wonder  of  her. 
And  now  it  was  storm.  He  saw  it  in  her  eyes,  her 
hands,  her  body.  He  felt  the  electrical  nearness  of  it 
in  those  low-spoken,  trembling  words,  "You  shall 
not!"  The  room  seemed  surcharged  for  a  moment 
with  impending  shock.  And  then  his  physical  eyes 
took  in  again  the  slimness  of  her,  seized  upon  the 
alluring  smallness  of  her  and  the  fact  that  he  could 
have  tossed  her  to  the  ceiling  without  great  effort. 
And  yet  he  saw  her  as  one  sees  a  goddess. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"No,  I  won't  ask  you  questions,  when  you  look  at 
me  like  that,"  he  said,  finding  his  tongue.  "I  won't 
ask  you  what  this  price  is  that  Kedsty  may  demand, 
because  you're  not  going  to  pay  it.  If  you  won't  go 
with  me,  I  won't  go.  I'd  rather  stay  here  and  be  hung. 
I'm  not  asking  you  questions,  so  please  don't  shoot,  but 
if  you  told  me  the  truth,  and  you  belong  in  the  North, 
you're  going  back  with  me — or  I'm  not  going.  I'll 
not  budge  an  inch," 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  if  something  had  greatly 
relieved  her.  Again  her  violet  eyes  came  out  from 
the  shadow  into  sunlight,  and  her  trembling  mouth 
suddenly  broke  into  a  smile.  It  was  not  apologetic. 
There  was  about  it. a  quick  and  spontaneous  gladness 
which  she  made  no  effort  at  all  to  conceal. 

"That  is  nice  of  you,"  she  said.  "I'm  glad  to  hear 
you  say  it.  I  never  knew  how  pleasant  it  was  to  have 
some  one  who  was  willing  to  be  hung  for  me.  But  you 
will  go.  And  I  will  not  go.  There  isn't  time  to  ex 
plain  all  about  it  just  now,  for  Inspector  Kedsty  will 
be  here  very  soon,  and  I  must  dry  my  hair  and  show 
you  your  hiding-place — if  you  have  to  hide." 

She  began  to  brush  her  hair  again.  In  the  mirror 
Kent  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  smile  still  trembling  on 
her  lips. 

"I'm  not  questioning  you,"  he  guarded  himself  again, 
"but  if  you  could  only  understand  how  anxious  I  am 
to  know  where  Kedsty  is,  how  Fingers  found  you,  why 
you  made  us  believe  you  were  leaving  the  Landing 


164       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

and  then  returned — and — how  badly  I  want  to  know 
something  about  you — I  almost  believe  you'd  talk  a  lit 
tle  while  you  are  drying  your  hair." 

"It  was  Mooie,  the  old  Indian,"  she  said.  "It  was  he 
who  found  out  in  some  way  that  I  was  here,  and  then 
M'sieu  Fingers  came  himself  one  night  when  the  In 
spector  was  away — got  in  through  a  window  and  sim 
ply  said  that  you  had  sent  him,  when  I  was  just  about 
to  shoot  him.  You  see,  I  knew  you  weren't  going  to  die. 
Kedsty  had  told  me  that.  I  was  going  to  help  you  in 
another  way,  if  M'sieu  Fingers  hadn't  come.  In 
spector  Kedsty  was  over  there  tonight,  at  his  cabin, 
when  the  thing  happened  down  there.  It  was  a  part 
of  Fingers'  scheme — to  keep  him  out  of  the  way." 

Suddenly  she  grew  rigid.  The  brush  remained 
poised  in  her  hair.  Kent,  too,  heard  the  sound  that 
she  had  heard.  It  was  a  loud  tapping  at  one  of  the 
curtained  windows,  the  tapping  of  some  metallic  ob 
ject.  And  that  window  was  fifteen  feet  above  the 
ground ! 

With  a  little  cry  the  girl  threw  down  her  brush,  ran 
to  the  window,  and  raised  and  lowered  the  curtain 
once.  Then  she  turned  to  Kent,  swiftly  dividing  her 
hair  into  thick  strands  and  weaving  them  into  a  braid. 

"It  is  Mooie,"  she  cried.     "Kedsty  is  coming!" 

She  caught  his  hand  and  hurried  him  toward  the 
head  of  the  bed,  where  two  long  curtains  were  strung 
on  a  wire.  She  drew  these  apart.  Behind  them  were 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        165 

what  seemed  to  Kent  an  innumerable  number  of  femi 
nine  garments. 

"You  must  hide  in  them,  if  you  have  to,"  she  said, 
the  excited  little  tremble  in  her  voice  again.  "I  don't 
think  it  will  come  to  that,  but  if  it  does,  you  must! 
Bury  yourself  way  back  in  them,  and  keep  quiet.  If 
Kedsty  finds  you  are  here " 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  it  seemed  to  Kent  that 
there  was  something  which  was  very  near  to  fear  in 
them  now. 

"If  he  should  find  you  here,  it  would  mean  some 
thing  terrible  for  me/'  she  went  on,  her  hands  creep 
ing  to  his  arms.  "I  can  not  tell  you  what  it  is  now, 
but  it  would  be  worse  than  death.  Will  you  promise 
to  stay  here,  no  matter  what  happens  down  there,  no 
matter  what  you  may  hear?  Will  you — Mr.  Kent?" 

"Not  if  you  call  me  Mr.  Kent/'  he  said,  something 
thickening  in  his  throat. 

"Will  you — Jeems?  Will  you — no  matter  what 
happens — if  I  promise — when  I  come  back — to  kiss 
you?" 

Her  hands  slipped  almost  caressingly  from  his  arms, 
and  then  she  had  turned  swiftly  and  was  gone  through 
the  parti}  open  door,  closing  it  after  her,  before  he 
could  give  his  promise. 


CHAPTER  XV 

T?OR  a  space  he  stood  where  she  had  left  him,  star- 
•F  ing  at  the  door  through  which  she  had  gone.  The 
nearness  of  her  in  those  last  few  seconds  of  her  pres 
ence,  the  caressing  touch  of  her  hands,  what  he  had 
seen  in  her  eyes,  her  promise  to  kiss  him  if  he  did  not 
reveal  himself — these  things,  and  the  thought  of  the 
splendid  courage  that  must  be  inspiring  her  to  face 
Kedsty  now,  made  him  blind  even  to  the  door  and  the 
wall  at  which  he  was  apparently  looking.  He  saw  only 
her  face,  as  he  had  seen  it  in  that  last  moment — her 
eyes,  the  tremble  of  her  lips,  and  the  fear  which  she 
had  not  quite  hidden  from  him.  She  was  afraid  of 
Kedsty.  He  was  sure  of  it.  For  she  had  not  smiled; 
there  was  no  flicker  of  humor  in  her  eyes,  when  she 
called  him  Jeems,  an  intimate  use  of  the  names  Jim  and 
James  in  the  far  North.  It  was  not  facetiously  that 
she  had  promised  to  kiss  him.  An  almost  tragic  seri 
ousness  had  possessed  her.  And  it  was  that  serious 
ness  that  thrilled  him — that,  and  the  amazing  frank 
ness  with  w7hich  she  had  coupled  the  name  Jeems  with 
the  promise  of  her  lips.  Once  before  she  had  called 
him  Jeems.  But  it  was  M'sieu  Jeems  then,  and  there 
had  been  a  bit  of  taunting  laughter  in  her  voice.  Jim 
or  James  meant  nothing,  but  Jeems — He  had  heard 

166 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        167 

mothers  call  little  children  that,  in  moments  of  endear 
ment.  He  knew  that  wives  and  sweethearts  used  it 
in  that  same  way.  For  Jim  and  James  were  not  uncom 
mon  names  up  and  down  the  Three  Rivers,  even 
among  the  half-breeds  and  French,  and  Jeems  was 
the  closer  and  more  intimate  thing  bred  of  it. 

His  heart  was  thumping  riotously  as  he  went  to  the 
door  and  listened.  A  little  while  ago,  when  she  faced 
him  with  flashing  eyes,  commanding  him  not  to  ques 
tion  her,  he  had  felt  an  abyss  under  his  feet.  Now  he 
was  on  a  mountain.  And  he  knew  that  no  matter  what 
he  heard,  unless  it  was  her  cry  for  help,  he  would  not 
go  down. 

After  a  little  he  opened  the  door  a  mere  crack  so  that 
sound  might  come  to  him.  She  had  not  forbidden 
that.  Through  the  crack  he  could  see  a  dim  glo,w  of 
light  in  the  lower  hall.  But  he  heard  no  sound,  and  it 
occurred  to  him  that  old  Mooie  could  still  run  swiftly, 
and  that  it  might  be  some  time  before  Kedsty  would 
arrive. 

As  he  waited,  he  looked  about  the  room.  His  first 
impression  was  that  Marette  must  have  lived  in  it 
for  a  long  time.  It  was  a  woman's  room,  without  the 
newness  of  sudden  and  unpremeditated  occupancy.  He 
knew  that  formerly  it  had  been  Kedsty 's  room,  but 
nothing  of  Kedsty  remained  in  it  now.  And  then,  as 
his  wondering  eyes  beheld  the  miracle,  a  number  of 
things  struck  him  with  amazing  significance.  He  no 
longer  doubted  that  Marette  Radisson  was  of  the  far 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Northland.  His  faith  in  that  was  absolute.  If  there 
had  been  a  last  question  in  his  mind,  it  was  wiped 
away  because  she  called  him  Jeems.  Yet  this  room 
seemed  to  give  the  lie  to  his  faith.  Fascinated  by  his 
discovery  of  things,  he  drew  away  from  the  door  and 
stood  over  the  dressing-table  in  front  of  the  mirror. 

Marette  had  not  prepared  the  room  for  him,  and 
her  possessions  were  there.  It  did  not  strike  him  as 
sacrilege  to  look  at  them,  the  many  intimate  little 
things  that  are  mysteriously  used  in  the  process  of  a 
lady's  toilette.  It  was  their  number  and  variety  that 
astounded  him.  He  might  have  expected  them  in  the 
boudoir  of  the  Governor  General's  daughter  at  Ottawa, 
but  not  here — and  much  less  farther  north.  What  he 
saw  was  of  exquisite  material  and  workmanship.  And 
then,  as  if  attracted  by  a  magnet,  his  eyes  were  drawn 
to  something  else.  It  was  a  row  of  shoes  neatly  and 
carefully  arranged  on  the  floor  at  one  side  of  the  dress 
ing-table. 

He  stared  at  them,  astounded.  Never  had  he  seen 
such  an  array  of  feminine  footwear  intended  for  the 
same  pair  of  feet.  And  it  was  not  Northern  footwear. 
Every  individual  little  beauty  in  that  amazing  row 
stood  on  a  high  heel !  Their  variety  was  something  to 
which  he  had  long  been  a  stranger.  There  were  but 
toned  boots,  laced  boots,  brown  boots,  black  boots,  and 
white  boots,  with  dangerously  high  and  fragile  looking 
heels;  there  were  dainty  little  white  kid  slippers,  slip 
pers  with  bows,  slippers  with  cut  steel  buckles,  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       169 

slippers  with  dainty  ribbon  ties ;  there  were  high-heeled 
oxfords  and  high-heeled  patent  leather  pumps!  He 
gasped.  He  reached  over,  moved  by  an  automatic  sort 
of  impulse,  and  took  a  satiny  little  pump  in  his  hand. 

The  size  of  it  gave  him  a  decidedly  pleasant  mental 
shock,  and,  beginning  to  feel  like  one  prying  into  a 
sleeper's  secrets,  he  looked  inside  it.  The  size  was 
there — number  three.  And  it  had  come  from  Favre's 
in  Montreal !  One  after  another  he  looked  inside  half 
a  dozen  others.  And  all  of  them  had  come  from 
Favre's  in  Montreal. 

The  little  shoes,  more  than  all  else  that  he  had  seen 
or  that  had  happened,  sent  a  question  pounding 
through  his  brain.  Who  was  Marette  Radisson? 

And  that  question  was  followed  by  other  questions, 
until  they  tumbled  over  one  another  in  his  head.  If 
she  was  from  Montreal,  why  was  she  going  north?  If 
she  belonged  in  the  North,  if  she  was  a  part  of  it,  why 
was  she  taking  all  of  this  apparently  worthless  foot 
wear  with  her?  Why  had  she  come  to  Athabasca 
Landing?  What  was  she  to  Kedsty?  Why  was  she 
hiding  under  his  roof?  Why 

He  stopped  himself,  trying  to  find  some  one  answer 
in  all  that  chaos  of  questions.  It  was  impossible  for 
him  to  take  his  eyes  from  the  shoes.  A  thought  seized 
him.  Ludicrously  he  dropped  upon  his  knees  in  front 
of  the  row  and  with  a  face  growing  hotter  each  mo 
ment  examined  them  all.  But  he  wanted  to  know. 
And  the  discovery  he  made  was  that  most  of  the  foot- 


170       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

wear  had  been  worn,  some  of  it  so  slightly,  however, 
that  the  impression  of  the  foot  was  barely  visible. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  continued  his  inquiry.  Of 
course  she  had  expected  him  to  look  about.  One 
couldn't  help  seeing,  unless  one  were  blind.  He  would 
have  cut  off  a  hand  before  opening  one  of  the  dressing- 
table  drawers.  But  Marette  herself  had  told  him  to 
hide  behind  the  curtains  if  it  became  necessary,  and  it 
was  an  excusable  caution  for  him  to  look  behind  those 
curtains  now,  to  see  what  sort  of  hiding-place  he  had. 
He  returned  to  the  door  first  and  listened.  There  was 
still  no  sound  from  below.  Then  he  drew  the  curtains 
apart,  as  Marette  had  drawn  them.  Only  he  looked 
longer.  He  would  tell  her  about  it  when  she  returned, 
if  the  act  needed  an  apology. 

His  impression  was  a  man's  impression.  What  he 
saw  was  a  billowing,  filmy  mass  of  soft  stuff,  and  out 
of  it  there  greeted  him  the  faintest  possible  scent  of 
lilac  sachet  powder.  He  closed  the  curtains  with  a 
deep  breath  of  utter  joy  and  of  consternation.  The 
two  emotions  were  a  jumble  to  him.  The  shoes,  all 
that  mass  of  soft  stuff  behind  the  curtains,  were  ex 
quisitely  feminine.  The  breath  of  perfume  had  come 
to  him  straight  out  of  a  woman's  soul.  There  were 
seduction  and  witchery  to  it.  He  saw  Marette,  an 
enrapturing  vision  of  loveliness,  floating  before  his 
eyes  in  that  sacred  and  mysterious  vestment  of  which 
he  had  stolen  a  half-frightened  glimpse.  In  white — 
the  white,  cobwebby  thing  of  laces  and  embroidery 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        171 

that  had  hung  straight  before  his  eyes — in  white — • 
with  her  glorious  black  hair,  her  violet  eyes,  her 

And  then  it  was  that  the  incongruity  of  the  thing, 
the  almost  sheer  impossibility  of  it,  clashed  in  upon  his 
vision.  Yet  his  faith  was  not  shaken.  Marette  Radis- 
son  was  of  the  North.  He  could  not  disbelieve  that, 
even  in  the  face  of  these  amazing  things  that  con 
fronted  him. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  sound  that  was  like  the  ex 
plosion  of  a  gun  under  his  feet.  It  was  the  opening 
and  closing  of  the  hall  door — but  mostly  the  closing. 
The  slam  of  it  shook  the  house  and  rattled  the  glass 
in  the  windows.  Kedsty  had  returned,  and  he  was  in 
a  rage.  Kent  extinguished  the  light  so  that  the  room 
was  in  darkness.  Then  he  went  to  the  door.  He  could 
hear  the  quick,  heavy  tread  of  Kedsty 's  feet.  After 
that  came  the  closing  of  a  second  door,  followed  by  the 
rumble  of  Kedsty's  voice.  Kent  was  disappointed. 

The  Inspector  of  Police  and  Marette  were  in  a  room 
too  far  distant  for  him  to  distinguish  what  was  said 
But  he  knew  that  Kedsty  had  returned  to  barracks 
and  had  discovered  what  had  happened  there.  After 
an  interval  his  voice  was  a  steady  rumble.  It  rose 
higher.  He  heard  the  crash  of  a  chair.  Then  the 
voice  ceased,  and  after  it  came  the  tramping  of  Ked 
sty's  feet.  Not  once  did  he  catch  the  sound  of  Mar- 
ette's  voice,  but  he  was  sure  that  in  the  interval  of 
silence  she  was  talking.  Then  Kedsty's  voice  broke 
forth  more  furiously  than  before.  Kent's  fingers  dug* 


172        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

into  the  sill  of  the  door.  Each  moment  added  to  his 
conviction  that  Marette  was  in  danger.  It  was  not 
physical  violence  he  feared.  He  did  not  believe  Ked 
sty  capable  of  perpetrating  that  upon  a  woman.  It 
was  fear  that  he  would  take  her  to  barracks.  The  fact 
that  Marette  had  told  him  there  was  a  powerful  reason 
why  Kedsty  would  not  do  this  failed  to  assure  him. 
For  she  had  also  told  him  that  Kedsty  would  kill  her, 
if  he  dared.  He  held  himself  in  readiness.  At  a  cry 
from  her,  or  the  first  move  on  Kedsty's  part  to  take 
her  from  the  bungalow,  he  would  give  battle  in  spite 
of  Marette's  warning. 

He  almost  hoped  one  of  these  two  things  would 
happen.  As  he  stood  there,  listening,  waiting,  the 
thought  became  almost  a  prayer.  He  had  Felly's  re 
volver.  Within  twenty  seconds  he  could  have  Ked 
sty  looking  down  the  barrel  of  it.  The  night  was  ideal 
for  escape.  Within  half  an  hour  they  would  be  on  the 
river.  They  could  even  load  up  with  provisions  from 
Kedsty's  place.  He  opened  the  door  a  little  more, 
scarcely  making  an  effort  to  combat  the  impulse  that 
dragged  him  out.  Marette  must  be  in  danger,  or  she 
would  not  have  confessed  to  him  that  she  was  in  the 
house  of  a  man  who  would  like  to  see  her  dead.  Why 
she  was  there  did  not  interest  him  deeply  now.  It 
was  the  fact  of  the  moment  that  was  moving  him 
swiftly  toward  action. 

The  door  below  opened  again,  and  Kent's  body  grew 
rigid.  He  heard  Kedsty  charging  through  the  lower 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        173 

hall  like  a  mad  bull.  The  outer  door  opened,  slammed 
shut,  and  he  was  gone. 

Kent  drew  back  into  the  darkness  of  his  room.  It 
was  some  moments  before  he  heard  Marette  coming 
slowly  up  the  stairs.  She  seemed  to  be  groping  her 
way,  though  there  was  a  dim  illumination  out  there. 
Then  she  came  through  the  door  into  the  blackness  of 
her  room. 

"Jeems,"  she  whispered. 

He  went  to  her.  Her  hands  reached  out,  and  again 
they  rested  on  his  arms. 

"You — you  didn't  come  down  the  stair?" 

"No." 

"You— didn't  hear?" 

"I  heard  no  words.    Only  Kedsty's  voice." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  her  voice,  when  she  spoke 
again,  trembled  with  an  immeasurable  relief.  "You 
were  good,  Jeems.  I  am  glad." 

In  that  darkness  he  could  not  see.  Yet  something 
reached  into  him,  thrilling  him,  quickening  his  pulse 
with  a  thing  to  which  his  eyes  were  blind.  He  bent 
down.  He  found  her  lips  upturned,  offering  him  the 
sweetness  of  the  kiss  which  was  to  be  his  reward; 
and  as  he  felt  their  warmth  upon  his  ov/n,  he  felt  also 
the  slightest  pressure  of  her  hands  upon  his  arms. 

"He  is  gone.  We  will  light  the  lamp  again,"  she 
said  then. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT^ENT  stood  still  while  Marette  moved  in  that 
"*•  **  gloom,  found  matches,  and  lighted  the  lamp.  He 
had  not  spoken  a  word  after  the  kiss.  He  had  not 
taken  advantage  of  it.  The  gentle  pressure  of  her 
hands  had  restrained  him  from  taking  her  in  his  arms. 
But  the  kiss  itself  fired  him  with  a  wild  and  glorious 
thrill  that  was  like  a  vibrant  music  to  which  every  atom 
of  life  in  his  body  responded.  If  he  claimed  his  re 
ward  at  all,  he  had  expected  her  kiss  to  be  perhaps 
indifferent,  at  least  neutral.  But  the  lips  she  had  given 
him  there  in  the  darkness  of  the  room  were  warm,  liv 
ing,  breathing  lips.  They  had  not  been  snatched  away 
from  him  too  quickly.  Their  sweetness,  for  an  instant, 
had  lingered. 

Then,  in  the  lamp  glow,  he  was  looking  into  Marette 
Radisson's  face.  He  knew  that  his  own  was  aflame. 
He  had  no  desire  to  hide  its  confession,  and  he  was 
eager  to  find  what  lay  in  her  own  eyes.  And  he  was 
astonished,  and  then  startled.  The  kiss  had  not  dis 
turbed  Marette.  It  was  as  if  it  had  never  happened. 
She  was  not  embarrassed,  and  there  was  no  hint  of 
color  in  her  face.  It  was  her  deathly  whiteness  that 
startled  him,  a  pallor  emphasized  by  the  dark  masses 

174 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        175 

of  her  hair,  and  a  strange  glow  in  her  eyes.  It  was  not 
a  glow  brought  there  by  the  kiss.  It  was  fear,  fading 
slowly  out  of  them  as  he  looked,  until  at  last  it  was 
gone,  and  her  lips  trembled  with  an  apologetic  smile. 

"He  was  very  angry/*  she  said.  "How  easily  some 
men  lose  their  tempers,  don't  they — Jeems?" 

The  little  break  in  her  voice,  her  brave  effort  to  con 
trol  herself,  and  the  whimsical  bit  of  smile  that  accom 
panied  her  words  made  him  want  to  do  what  the  gentle 
pressure  of  her  hands  had  kept  him  from  doing  a  few 
moments  before — pick  her  up  in  his  arms.  What  she 
was  trying  to  hide  he  saw  plainly.  She  had  been  in 
danger,  a  danger  greater  than  that  which  she  had 
quietly  and  fearlessly  faced  at  barracks.  And  she  was 
still  afraid  of  that  menace.  It  was  the  last  thing  which 
she  wanted  him  to  know,  and  yet  he  knew  it.  A  new 
force  swept  through  him.  It  was  the  force  which 
comes  of  mastery,  of  possessorship,  of  fighting  grimly 
against  odds.  It  rose  in  a  mighty  triumph.  It  told 
him  this  girl  belonged  to  him,  that  she  was  his  to  fight 
for.  And  he  was  going  to  fight.  Marette  saw  the 
change  that  came  into  his  face.  For  a  moment  after 
she  had  spoken  there  was  silence  between  them.  Out 
side  the  storm  beat  in  a  fiercer  blast.  A  roll  of  thunder 
crashed  over  the  bungalow.  The  windows  rattled  in 
a  sweep  of  wind  and  rain.  Kent,  looking  at  her,  his 
muscles  hardening,  his  face  growing  grimmer,  nodded 
toward  the  window  at  which  Mooie's  signal  had  come. 


:/6       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"It  is  a  splendid  night — for  us,"  he  said.  "And  we 
must  go." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"In  the  eyes  of  the  law  I  am  a  murderer/'  he  went 
on.  "You  saved  me.  You  shot  a  man.  In  those  same 
eyes  you  are  a  criminal.  It  is  folly  to  remain  here. 
It  is  sheer  suicide  for  both  of  us.  If  Kedsty " 

"If  Kedsty  does  not  do  what  I  told  him  to  do  to 
night,  I  shall  kill  him!"  she  said. 

The  quietness  of  her  words,  the  steadiness  of  her 
eyes,  held  him  speechless.  Again  it  seemed  to  him, 
as  it  had  seemed  to  him  in  his  room  at  Cardigan's 
place,  that  it  was  a  child  who  was  looking  at  him  and 
speaking  to  him.  If  she  had  shown  fear  a  few  mo 
ments  before,  that  fear  was  not  revealed  in  her  face 
now.  She  was  not  excited.  Her  eyes  were  softly  and 
quietly  beautiful.  She  amazed  him  and  discomfited 
him.  Against  that  child-like  sureness  he  felt  himself 
helpless.  Its  potency  was  greater  than  his  strength 
and  greater  than  his  determination.  It  placed  between 
them  instantly  a  vast  gulf,  a  gulf  that  might  be  bridged 
by  prayer  and  entreaty,  but  never  by  force.  There  was 
no  hint  of  excitement  in  her  threat  against  Kedsty,  and 
yet  in  the  very  calmness  of  it  he  felt  its  deacf  iness. 

A  whimsical  half-smile  was  trembling  oi>  her  lips 
again,  and  a  warmer  glow  came  into  her  eyes.  "Do 
you  know,"  she  said,  "that  according  to  an  old  and 
sacred  code  of  the  North  you  belong  to  me?" 

"I  have  heard  of  that  code,"  he  replied.  "A  hundred 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        177 

years  ago  I  should  have  been  your  slave.  If  it  exists 
today,  I  am  happy." 

"Yes,  you  see  the  point,  Jeems,  don't  you?  You 
were  about  to  die,  probably.  I  think  they  would  have 
hanged  you.  And  I  saved  your  life.  Therefore  your 
life  belongs  to  me,  for  I  insist  that  the  code  still  lives. 
You  are  my  property,  an  1  I  am  going  to  do  with  you 
as  I  please,  until  I  turn  you  over  to  the  Rivers.  And 
you  are  not  going  tonight.  You  shall  wait  here  for 
Laselle  and  his  brigade." 

"Laselle— Jean  Laselle?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes,  that  is  why  you  must  wait.  We 
have  made  a  splendid  arrangement.  When  Laselle  and 
his  brigade  start  north,  you  go  with  them.  And  no 
one  will  ever  know.  You  are  safe  here.  No  one  will 
think  of  looking  for  you  under  the  roof  of  the  In 
spector  of  Police." 

"But  you,  Marette!"  He  caught  himself,  remem 
bering  her  injunction  not  to  question  her.  Marette 
shrugged  her  slim  shoulders  the  slightest  bit  and 
nodded  for  him  to  look  upon  what  she  knew  he  had 
already  seen,  her  room. 

"It  is  not  uncomfortable,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
here  for  a  number  of  weeks,  and  nothing  has  happened 
to  me.  I  am  quite  safe.  Inspector  Kedsty  has  not 
looked  inside  that  door  since  the  day  your  big  red 
headed  friend  saw  me  down  in  the  poplars.  He  has 
not  put  a  foot  on  the  stair.  That  is  the  dead-line.  And 
— I  know — you  are  wondering.  You  are  asking  your- 


178       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

self  a  great  many  questions — a  bon  droit,  M'sieu 
Jeems.  You  are  burning  up  with  them.  I  can  see  it. 
And  I " 

There  was  something  suddenly  pathetic  about  her, 
as  she  sank  into  the  big-armed,  upholstered  chair 
which  had  been  Kedsty's  favorite  reading  chair.  She 
was  tired,  and  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Kent  that 
she  was  almost  ready  to  cry.  Her  fingers  twisted 
nervously  at  the  shining  end  of  the  braid  in  her  lap, 
and  more  than  ever  he  thought  how  slim  and  helpless, 
she  was,  yet  how  gloriously  unafraid,  how  uncon 
querable  with  that  something  within  her  that  burned 
like  the  fire  of  a  dynamo.  The  flame  of  that  force 
had  gone  down  now,  as  though  the  fire  itself  was  dy 
ing  out;  but  when  she  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  looking 
up  at  him  from  out  of  the  big  chair,  he  knew  that  back 
of  the  yearning,  child-like  glow  that  lay  in  them  the 
heart  of  that  fire  was  living  and  unquenchable.  Again, 
for  him,  she  had  ceased  to  be  a  woman.  It  was  the 
soul  of  a  child  that  lay  in  her  wide-open,  wonderfully 
blue  eyes.  Twice  before  he  had  seen  that  miracle,  and 
it  held  him  now,  as  it  had  held  him  that  first  time 
when  she  had  stood  with  her  back  at  Cardigan's  door. 
And  as  it  had  changed  then,  so  it  changed  now,  slowly, 
and  she  was  a  woman  again,  with  that  great  gulf  of 
unapproachableness  between  them.  But  the  yearning 
was  still  there,  revealing  itself  to  him,  and  yet,  like  the 
sun,  infinitely  remote  from  him. 

"I  wish  that  I  might  answer  those  questions  for 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        179 

you,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  low  and  tired.  "I 
should  like  to  have  you  know,  because  I — I  have  great 
faith  in  you,  Jeems.  But  I  cannot.  It  is  impossible. 
It  is  inconceivable.  If  I  did "  She  made  a  hope 
less  little  gesture.  "If  I  told  you  everything,  you 
would  not  like  me  any  more.  And  I  want  you  to  like 
me — until  you  go  north  with  M'sieu  Jean  and  his 
brigade/' 

"And  when  I  do  that,"  cried  Kent,  almost  savagely, 
"I  shall  find  this  place  you  call  the  Valley  of  Silent 
Men,  if  it  takes  me  all  my  life." 

It  was  becoming  a  joy  for  him  to  see  the  sudden 
flashes  of  pleasure  that  leaped  into  her  eyes.  She  at 
tempted  no  concealment.  Whatever  her  emotions  were 
they  revealed  themselves  unaffectedly  and  with  a  sim 
ple  freedom  from  embarrassment  that  swept  him  with 
an  almost  reverential  worship.  And  what  he  had  just 
said  pleased  her.  Unreservedly  her  glowing  eyes  and 
her  partly  smiling  lips  told  him  that,  and  she  said :  "I 
am  glad  you  feel  that  way,  Jeems.  And  I  think  you 
would  find  it — in  time.  Because " 

Her  little  trick  of  looking  at  him  so  steadily,  as  if 
there  was  something  inside  him  which  she  was  trying 
to  see  more  clearly,  made  him  feel  more  helplessly 
than  ever  her  slave.  It  was  as  if,  in  those  moments, 
she  forgot  that  he  was  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  was 
looking  into  his  heart  to  see  what  was  there  before  she 
gave  voice  to  things. 

And  then  she  said,  still  twisting  her  braid  between 


i8o       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

her  slim  fingers,  "You  would  find  it — perhaps — be 
cause  you  are  one  who  would  not  give  up  easily.  Shall 
I  tell  you  why  I  came  to  see  you  at  Doctor  Cardigan's  ? 
It  was  curiosity,  at  first — largely  that.  Just  why  or 
how  I  was  interested  in  the  man  you  freed  is  one  of 
the  things  I  can  not  tell  you.  And  I  can  not  tell  you 
why  I  came  to  the  Landing.  Nor  can  I  say  a  word 
about  Kedsty.  It  may  be,  some  day,  that  you  will 
know.  And  then  you  will  not  like  me.  For  nearly 
four  years  before  I  saw  you  that  day  I  had  been  in 
a  desolation.  It  was  a  terrible  place.  It  ate  my  heart 
and  soul  out  with  its  ugliness,  its  loneliness,  its  empti 
ness.  A  little  while  longer  and  I  would  have  died. 
Then  the  thing  happened  that  brought  me  away.  Can 
you  guess  where  it  was?" 

He  shook  his  head,  "No." 

"To  all  the  others  it  was  a  beautiful  place,  Mon 
treal." 

"You  were  at  school  there?"  he  guessed. 

"Yes,  the  Villa  Maria.  I  wasn't  quite  sixteen  then. 
They  were  kind.  I  think  they  liked  me.  But  each 
night  I  prayed  one  prayer.  You  know  what  the  Three 
Rivers  are  to  us,  to  the  people  of  the  North.  The 
Athabasca  is  Grandmother,  the  Slave  is  Mother,  the 
Mackenzie  is  Daughter,  and  over  them  watches  always 
the  goddess  Niska,  the  Gray  Goose.  And  my  .prayer 
was  that  I  might  go  back  to  them.  In  Montreal  there 
were  people,  people  everywhere,  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  of  them,  so  many  that  I  was  lonely  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        181 

heartsick  and  wanted  to  get  away.  For  the  Gray 
Goose  blood  is  in  rne,  Jeems.  I  love  the  forests.  And 
Niska's  God  doesn't  live  in  Montreal.  Her  sun  doesn't 
rise  there.  Her  moon  isn't  the  same  there.  The  flow 
ers  are  not  hers.  The  winds  tell  different  stories.  The 
air  is  another  air.  People,  when  they  look  at  you, 
look  in  another  way.  Away  down  the  Three  Rivers 
I  had  loved  men.  There  I  was  learning  to  hate  them. 
Then^,  something  happened.  I  came  to  Athabasca 

Landing.    I  went  to  see  you  because " 

She  clasped  her  two  hands  tightly  in  her  lap.  "Be 
cause,  after  those  four  terrible  years,  you  were  the 
first  man  I  found  who  was  playing  a  great,  big,  square 
game  to  the  end.  Don't  ask  me  how  I  found  it  out. 
Please  don't  ask  me  anything.  I  am  telling  you  all 
you  can  know,  all  you  shall  know.  But  I  did 
find  it  out.  And  then  I  learned  that  you  were  not 
going  to  die.  Kedsty  told  me  that.  And  when  I  had 
talked  with  you  I  knew  that  you  would  play  any  game 
square,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  help  you.  That  is 
why  I  am  telling  you  all  this — just  to  let  you  know 
that  I  have  faith  in  you,  and  that  you  must  not  break 
that  faith.  You  must  not  insist  on  knowing  more 
about  me.  You  must  still  play  the  game.  I  am  play 
ing  mine,  and  you  must  play  yours.  And  to  play 
yours  clean,  you  must  go  with  Laselle's  brigade  and 
leave  me  with  Kedsty.  You  must  forget  what  has 
happened.  You  must  forget  what  may  happen.  You 
can  not  help  me.  You  can  only  harm  me.  And  if — - 


;82        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

some  day,  a  long  time  from  now — you  should  happen 
to  find  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men " 

He  waited,  his  heart  pounding  like  a  list. 

"I  may — be  there,"  she  finished,  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  it  was  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  looking  a  long  way 
off,  and  it  was  not  in  his  direction.  And  then  she 
smiled,  not  at  him,  but  in  a  half-hopeless  little  way. 

"I  think  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  you  don't  find 
it,"  she  said  then,  and  her  eyes  were  pure  as  the  blue 
flowers  from  which  they  had  stolen  their  color,  as  she 
looked  at  him.  "You  know  the  great  Sulphur  Coun 
try  beyond  Fort  Simpson,  westward  between  the  Two 
Nahannis  ?" 

"Yes.  That  is  where  Kilbane  and  his  patrol  were 
lost.  The  Indians  call  it  the  Devil  Country.  Is  that 
it?" 

She  nodded.  "They  say  no  living  thing  has  ever 
been  through  the  Sulphur  Country,"  she  said.  "But 
that  is  not  true.  I  have  been  through  it.  It  is  be 
yond  the  Sulphur  Country  you  must  go  to  find  the 
Valley  of  Silent  Men,  straight  through  that  gap  be 
tween  the  North  and  the  South  Nahanni.  That  is  the 
way  you  must  go  if  you  should  ever  find  it,  Jeems,  for 
otherwise  you  would  have  to  come  down  from  Dawson 
or  up  from  Skagway,  and  the  country  is  so  great  that 
you  would  never  come  upon  it  in  a  thousand  years. 
The  police  will  not  find  you  there.  You  will  always  be 
safe.  Perhaps  I  shall  tell  you  more  before  the  Brigade 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        183 

comes.  But  that  is  all  tonight.  I  may  never  tell  you 
anything  more.  And  you  must  not  question  me." 

Speechless  he  had  stood,  all  the  life  of  his  soul  burn 
ing  like  a  fire  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her  and  lis 
tened  to  her,  and  now,  quietly  and  unexcitedly,  he 
said: 

"Marette,  I  am  going  to  play  this  game  as  you  want 
me  to  play  it,  because  I  love  you.  It  is  only  honest  for 
me  to  tell  you  in  words  what  you  must  already  know. 
And  I  am  going  to  fight  for  you  as  long  as  there  is  a 
drop  of  blood  in  my  body.  If  I  go  with  Jean  Laselle's 
brigade,  will  you  promise  me " 

His  voice  trembled.  He  was  repressing  a  mighty 
emotion.  But  not  by  the  quiver  of  one  of  her  long 
lashes  did  Marette  Radisson  give  evidence  that  she  had 
even  heard  his  confession  of  love.  She  interrupted 
him  before  he  had  finished. 

"I  can  promise  you  nothing,  no  matter  what  you  do. 
Jeems,  Jeems,  you  are  not  like  those  other  men  I 
learned  to  hate?  You  will  not  insist?  If  you  do — if 
you  are  like  them — yes,  you  may  go  away  from  here 
tonight  and  not  wait  for  Jean  Laselle.  Listen!  The 
storm  will  not  break  for  hours.  If  you  are  going  to 
demand  a  price  for  playing  the  game  as  I  want  you 
to  play  it,  you  may  go.  You  have  my  permission." 

She  was  very  white.  She  rose  from  the  big  chair 
and  stood  before  him.  There  was  no  anger  in  her 
voice  or  gesture,  but  her  eyes  glowed  like  luminous 
Stars.  There  was  something  in  them  which  he  had 


184       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

not  seen  before,  and  suddenly  a  thought  struck  his 
heart  cold  as  ice. 

With  a  low  cry  he  stretched  out  his  hands.  "My 
God,  Marette,  I  am  not  a  murderer!  I  did  not  kill 
John  Barkley!" 

She  did  not  answer  him. 

"You  don't  believe  me/'  he  cried.  "You  believe  that 
I  killed  Barkley,  and  that  now — a  murderer — I  dare  to 
tell  you  that  I  love  you!" 

She  was  trembling.  It  was  like  a  little  shiver  run 
ning  through  her.  For  only  a  flash  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  terrible,  a 
thing  she  was  hiding,  a  thing  she  was  righting  as  she 
stood  there  with  her  two  little  clenched  hands.  For 
in  her  face,  in  her  eyes,  in  the  beating  throb  of  her 
white  throat  he  saw,  in  that  moment,  the  almost  hid 
den  agony  of  a  hurt  thing.  And  then  it  was  gone,  even 
as  he  entreated  again,  pleading  for  her  faith. 

"I  did  not  kill  John  Barkley !" 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  that,  Jeems,"  she  said.  "It  is 
of  something " 

They  had  forgotten  the  storm.  It  was  howling  and 
beating  at  the  windows  outside.  But  suddenly  there 
came  a  sound  that  rose  above  the  monotonous  tumult 
of  it,  and  Marette  started  as  if  it  had  sent  an  electric 
shock  through  her.  Kent,  too,  turned  toward  the 
window. 

It  was  the  metallic  tap,  tap,  tapping  which  once 
before  had  warned  them  of  approaching  danger.  And 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        185 

this  time  it  was  insistent.  It  was  as  if  a  voice  was 
crying  out  to  them  from  beyond  the  window.  It  was 
more  than  premonition — it  was  the  alarm  of  a  near 
and  impending  menace.  And  in  that  moment  Kent 
saw  Marette  Radisson's  hands  go  swiftly  to  her  throat 
and  her  eyes  leap  with  sudden  fire,  and  she  gave  a 
little  cry  as  she  listened  to  the  sound. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

T  N  ten  seconds,  it  seemed  to  Kent,  Marette  Radis- 
-1  son  was  again  the  splendid  creature  who  had  held 
the  three  men  at  bay  over  the  end  of  her  little  black 
gun  at  barracks.  The  sound  of  Mooie's  second  warn 
ing  came  at  first  as  a  shock.  Accompanying  it  there 
was  a  moment  of  fear,  of  fear  driven  almost  to  the 
point  of  actual  terror.  Following  it  came  a  reaction 
so  swift  that  Kent  was  dazed.  Within  those  ten  sec 
onds  the  girl's  slender  body  seemed  to  grow  taller;  a 
new  light  flamed  in  her  face;  her  eyes,  turning  swiftly 
to  him,  were  filled  with  the  same  fire  with  which  they 
had  faced  the  three  constables.  She  was  unafraid. 
She  was  ready  to  fight. 

In  such  moments  as  these  it  was  the  quiet  and  dis 
passionate  composure  of  her  voice  that  amazed  him 
most.  It  was  musical  in  its  softness  now.  Yet  in 
that  softness  was  a  hidden  thing.  It  was  like  velvet 
covering  steel.  She  had  spoken  of  Niska,  the  Gray 
Goose,  the  goddess  of  the  Three  Rivers.  And  he 
thought  that  something  of  the  spirit  of  a  goddess  must 
be  in  Marette  Radisson  to  give  her  the  courage  with 
which  she  faced  him,  even  as  the  metallic  thing  outside 
tapped  its  warning  again  at  the  window. 

186 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        187 

"Inspector  Kedsty  is  coming  back,"  she  said.  "I 
did  not  think  he  would  do  that — tonight." 

"He  has  not  had  time  to  go  to  barracks,"  said  Kent. 

"No.  Possibly  he  has  forgotten  something.  Be 
fore  he  arrives,  I  want  to  show  you  the  nest  I  have 
made  for  you,  Jeems.  Come  quickly !" 

It  was  her  first  intimation  that  he  was  not  to  re 
main  in  her  room,  a  possibility  that  had  already  caused 
him  some  inward  embarrassment.  She  seized  a  num 
ber  of  matches,  turned  down  her  light,  and  hurried 
into  the  hall.  Kent  followed  her  to  the  end  of  this 
hall,  where  she  paused  before  a  low  half -door  that 
apparently  opened  into  some  sort  of  a  space  close  tin 
der  the  sloping  roof  of  the  bungalow. 

"It  is  an  old  storeroom,"  she  whispered.  "I  have 
made  it  quite  comfortable,  I  think.  I  have  covered 
the  window,  so  you  may  light  the  lamp.  But  you  must 
see  that  no  light  shows  under  this  door.  Lock  it  on 
the  inside,  and  be  very  quiet.  For  whatever  you  find 
in  there  you  must  thank  M'sieu  Fingers." 

She  pulled  the  door  slightly  open  and  gave  him  the 
matches.  The  illumination  in  the  lower  hall  made  its 
way  only  dimly  to  where  they  stood.  In  the  gloom 
he  found  himself  close  to  the  soft  glow  of  her  eyes. 
His  fingers  closed  about  her  hand  as  he  took  the 
matches. 

"Marette,  you  believe  me?"  he  entreated.  "You 
believe  that  I  love  you,  that  I  didn't  kill  John  Barkley, 


i88       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

that  I  am  going  to  fight  for  you  as  long  as  God  gives 
me  breath  to  fight  ?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Her  hand  with 
drew  gently  from  his. 

"Yes,  I  think  that  I  believe.    Good-night,  Jeems." 

She  went  from  him  quickly.  At  her  door  she 
turned.  "Go  in  now,  please/'  she  called  back  softly. 
"If  you  care  as  you  say  you  do,  go  in," 

She  did  not  wait  for  his  reply.  Her  own  door 
closed  behind  her,  and  Kent,  striking  a  match,  stooped 
low  and  entered  his  hiding-place.  In  a  moment  he  saw 
directly  ahead  of  him  a  lamp  on  a  box.  He  lighted 
this,  and  his  first  movement  then  was  to  close  the  door 
and  turn  the  key  that  was  in  the  lock.  After  that  he 
looked  about  him. 

The  storeroom  was  not  more  than  ten  feet  square, 
and  the  roof  was  so  close  over  his  head  that  he  could 
not  stand  upright.  It  was  not  the  smallness  of  the 
place  that  struck  him  first,  but  the  preparations  which 
Marette  had  made  for  him.  In  a  corner  was  a  bed 
of  blankets,  and  the  rough  floor  of  the  place  was  car 
peted  with  blankets,  except  for  a  two-or- three- foot 
space  around  the  edge  of  it.  Beyond  the  box  was  a 
table  and  a  chair,  and  it  was  the  burden  of  this  table 
that  made  his  pulse  jump  quickest.  Marette  had  not 
forgotten  that  he  might  grow  hungry.  It  was  laid 
sumptuously,  with  a  plate  for  one,  but  with  food  for 
half  a  dozen.  There  were  a  brace  of  roasted  grouse, 
brown  as  nuts;  a  cold  roast  of  moose  meat  or  beef; 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        189 

a  dish  piled  high  with  golden  potato  salad;  olives, 
pickles,  an  open  can  of  cherries,  a  loaf  of  bread,  butter, 
cheese — and  one  of  Kedsty's  treasured  thermos  bottles, 
which  undoubtedly  held  hot  coffee  or  tea.  And  then 
he  noticed  what  was  on  the  chair — a  belt  and  holster 
and  a  Colt  automatic  forty-five !  Marette  had  not  fig 
ured  on  securing  a  gun  in  the  affair  at  barracks,  and 
her  foresight  had  not  forgotten  a  weapon.  She  had 
placed  it  conspicuously  where  he  could  not  fail  to  see 
it  at  once.  And  just  beyond  the  chair,  on  the  floor, 
was  a  shoulder-pack.  It  was  of  the  regulation  service 
sort,  partly  filled.  Resting  against  the  pack  was  a 
Winchester.  He  recognized  the  gun.  He  had  seen  it 
hanging  in  Dirty  Fingers'  shack. 

For  a  matter  of  five  minutes  he  scarcely  moved  from 
where  he  stood  beside  the  table.  Nothing  but  an  mv 
plastered  roof  was  between  him  and  the  storm,  and 
over  his  head  the  thunder  crashed,  and  the  rain  beat 
in  torrents.  He  saw  where  the  window  was,  carefully 
covered  with  a  blanket.  Even  through  the  blanket  he 
caught  faintly  the  illumination  of  lightning.  This 
window  overlooked  the  entrance  to  Kedsty's  bungalow, 
and  the  idea  came  to  him  of  turning  out  the  light  and 
opening  it.  In  darkness  he  took  down  the  blanket. 
But  the  window  itself  was  not  movable,  and  after 
assuring  himself  of  this  fact  he  flattened  his  face 
against  it,  peering  out  into  the  chaos  of  the  night. 

In  that  instant  came  a  flare  of  lightning,  and  to 
Kent,  looking  down,  was  revealed  a  sight  that  tight- 


190       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

ened  every  muscle  in  his  body.  More  vividly  than  if 
it  had  been  day  he  saw  a  man  standing  below  in  the 
deluge.  It  was  not  Mooie.  It  was  not  Kedsty.  It 
was  no  one  that  he  had  ever  seen.  Even  more  like 
a  ghost  than  a  man  was  that  apparition  of  the  light 
ning  flare.  A  great,  gaunt  giant  of  a  ghost,  bare 
headed,  with  long,  dripping  hair  and  a  long,  storm- 
twisted  beard.  The  picture  shot  to  his  brain  with  the 
swiftness  of  the  lightning  itself.  It  was  like  the  sud 
den  throwing  of  a  cinema  picture  on  a  screen.  Then 
blackness  shut  it  out.  Kent  stared  harder.  He  waited. 

Again  came  the  lightning,  and  again  he  saw  that 
tragic,  ghost-like  figure  waiting  in  the  storm.  Three 
times  he  saw  it.  And  he  knew  that  the  mysterious, 
bearded  giant  was  an  old  man.  The  fourth  time  the 
lightning  came,  the  figure  was  gone.  And  in  that  flare 
it  was  the  bowed  figure  of  Kedsty  he  saw  hurrying  up 
the  gravel  path  to  the  door. 

Quickly  Kent  covered  the  window,  but  he  did  not 
relight  the  lamp.  Before  Kedsty  could  have  reached 
the  foot  of  the  stair,  he  had  unlocked  the  door.  Cau 
tiously  he  opened  it  three  or  four  inches  and  sat  down 
with  his  back  against  the  wall,  listening.  He  heard 
Kedsty  pass  through  into  the  big  room  where  Marette 
had  waited  for  him  a  short  time  before.  After  that 
there  was  silence  except  for  the  tumult  of  the  storm. 

For  an  hour  Kent  listened.  In  all  that  time  he  did 
not  hear  a  sound  from  the  lower  hall  or  from  Mar- 
ette's  room.  He  wondered  if  she  was  sleeping,  and  if 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       191* 

Kedsty  had  gone  to  bed,  waiting  for  morning  before 
he  set  in  action  his  bloodhounds  of  the  law. 

Kent  had  no  intention  of  disturbing  the  comfortable 
looking  bed  of  blankets.  He  was  not  only  sleepless, 
but  filled  with  a  premonition  of  events  about  to  hap 
pen.  He  felt  impinging  itself  more  and  more  upon 
him  a  sense  of  watchfulness.  That  Inspector  Ked 
sty  and  Marette  Radisson  were  under  the  same  roof, 
and  that  there  was  some  potent  and  mysterious  reason 
which  kept  Kedsty  from  betraying  the  girl's  presence, 
was  the  thought  which  troubled  him  most.  He  was 
not  developing  further  the  plans  for  his  own  escape. 

He  was  thinking  of  Marette.  What  was  her  power 
over  Kedsty?  Why  was  it  that  Kedsty  would  like  to 
see  her  dead  ?  Why  was  she  in  his  house  ?  Again  and 
again  he  asked  himself  the  questions  and  found  no 
answers  to  them.  And  yet.  even  in  this  purgatory  of 
mystery  that  environed  him,  he  felt  himself  happier 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  For  Marette  was  not 
four  or  five  hundred  miles  down  the  river.  She  was 
in  the  same  house  with  him.  And  he  had  told  her 
that  he  loved  her.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  been  given 
courage  to  let  her  know  that  He  relighted  the  lamp, 
and  opened  his  watch  and  placed  it  on  the  table,  where 
frequently  he  could  look  at  the  time.  He  wanted  to 
smoke  his  pipe,  but  the  odor  of  tobacco,  he  was  sure, 
would  reach  Kedsty,  unless  the  Inspector  had  actually 
retired  into  his  bedroom  for  the  night. 

Half  a  dozen  times  he  questioned  himself  as  to  the: 


192       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

identity  of  the  ghostly  apparition  he  had  seen  in  the 
lightning  flare  of  the  storm.  Perhaps  it  was  some 
one  of  Fingers'  strange  friends  from  out  of  the  wilder 
ness,  Mooie's  partner  in  watching  the  bungalow.  The 
picture  of  that  giant  of  a  man  with  his  great  beard 
and  long  hair,  as  his  eyes  had  caught  him  in  a  sea  of 
electrical  fire,  was  indelibly  burned  into  his  brain.  It 
was  a  tragic  picture. 

Again  he  put  out  the  light  and  bared  the  blanketed 
window,  but  he  saw  nothing  but  the  sodden  gleam  of 
the  earth  when  the  lightning  flashed.  A  second  time 
he  opened  the  door  a  few  inches  and  sat  down  with 
his  back  to  the  wall,  listening. 

How  long  it  was  before  drowsiness  stole  upon  him 
he  did  not  know,  but  it  came,  and  for  a  few  moments 
at  a  time,  as  his  eyes  closed,  it  robbed  him  of  his  cau 
tion.  And  then,  for  a  space,  he  slept.  A  sound  brought 
him  suddenly  into  wide  wakefulness.  His  first  im 
pression  was  that  the  sound  had  been  a  cry.  For  a 
moment  or  two,  as  his  senses  adjusted  themselves,  he 
was  not  sure.  Then  swiftly  the  thing  grew  upon  him. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  widened  the  crack  of  his 
door.  A  bar  of  light  shot  across  the  upper  hall.  It 
was  from  Marette's  room.  He  had  taken  off  his  boots 
to  deaden  the  sound  of  his  feet,  and  he  stepped  outside 
his  door.  He  was  positive  he  heard  a  low  cry,  a  chok 
ing,  sobbing  cry,  only  barely  audible,  and  that  it  came 
•from  down  the  stair. 

No  longer  hesitating,  he  moved  quickly  to  Marette's 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        193 

room  and  looked  in.  His  first  glimpse  was  of  the  bed. 
It  had  not  been  used.  The  room  was  empty. 

Something  cold  and  chilling  gripped  at  his  heart, 
and  an  impulse  which  he  no  longer  made  an  effort  to 
resist  pulled  him  to  the  head  of  the  stair.  It  was  more 
than  an  impulse — it  was  a  demand.  Step  by  step  he 
went  down,  his  hand  on  the  butt  of  his  Colt. 

He  reached  the  lower  hall,  which  was  still  lighted, 
and  a  step  or  two  brought  him  to  a  view  of  the  door 
that  opened  into  the  big  living-room  beyond.  That 
door  was  partly  open,  and  the  room  itself  was  filled 
with  light.  Soundlessly  Kent  approached.  He  looked 
in. 

What  he  saw  first  brought  him  relief  together  with 
shock.  At  one  end  of  the  long  desk  table  over  which 
hung  a  great  brass  lamp  stood  Marette.  She  was  in 
profile  to  him.  He  could  not  see  her  face.  Her  hair 
fell  loose  about  her,  glowing  like  a  rich,  sable  cape  in 
the  light  of  the  lamp.  She  was  safe,  alive,  and  yet  the 
attitude  of  her  as  she  looked  down  was  the  thing  that 
gave  him  shock.  He  was  compelled  to  move  a  few 
inches  more  before  he  could  see  what  she  was  staring 
at.  And  then  his  heart  stopped  dead  still. 

Huddled  down  in  his  chair,  with  his  head  flung  back 
so  that  the  terrible  ghastliness  of  his  face  fronted  Kent, 
was  Kedsty.  And  Kent,  in  an  instant,  knew.  Only 
a  dead  man  could  look  like  that. 

With  a  cry  he  entered  the  room.  Marette  did  not 
start,  but  an  answering  cry  came  into  her  throat  as  she 


194       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

turned  her  eyes  from  Kedsty  to  him.  To  Kent  it  was 
like  looking  upon  the  dead  in  two  ways.  Marette 
Radisson,  living  and  breathing,  was  whiter  than  Ked 
sty,  who  was  white  with  the  unbreathing  pallor  of  the 
actually  dead.  She  did  not  speak.  She  made  no  sound 
after  that  answering  cry  in  her  throat.  She  simply 
looked.  And  Kent  spoke  her  name  gently  as  he  saw 
her  great,  wide  eyes  blazing  dully  their  agony  and 
despair.  Then,  like  one  stunned  and  fascinated,  she 
stared  down  upon  Kedsty  again. 

Every  instinct  of  the  man-hunter  became  alive  in 
Kent's  brain  as  he,  too,  turned  toward  the  Inspector  of 
Police.  Kedsty 's  arms  hung  limp  over  the  side  of  his 
chair.  On  the  floor  under  his  right  hand  was  his  Colt 
automatic.  His  head  was  strained  so  far  over  the 
back  of  the  chair  that  it  looked  as  though  his  neck  had 
been  broken.  On  his  forehead,  close  up  against  his 
short-cropped,  iron-gray  hair,  was  a  red  stain. 

Kent  approached  and  bent  over  him.  He  had  seen 
death  too  many  times  not  to  recognize  it  now,  but  sel 
dom  had  he  seen  a  face  twisted  and  distorted  as  Ked- 
sty's  was.  His  eyes  were  open  and  bulging  in  a  glassy 
stare.  His  jaws  hung  loose.  His 

It  was  then  Kent's  blood  froze  in  his  veins.  Kedsty 
had  received  a  blow,  but  it  was  not  the  blow  that  had 
killed  him.  Afterward  he  had  been  choked  to  death. 
And  the  thing  that  had  choked  him  was  a  tress  of 
woman's  hair. 

Jn  the  seconds  that  followed  that  discovery  Kent 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        195 

could  not  have  moved  if  his  own  life  had  paid  the  pen 
alty  of  inaction.  For  the  story  was  told — there  about 
Kedsty's  throat  and  on  his  chest.  The  tress  of  hair  was 
long  and  soft  and  shining  and  black.  It  was  twisted 
twice  around  Kedsty's  neck,  and  the  loose  end  rippled 
down  over  his  shoulder,  glowing  like  a  bit  of  rich  sable 
in  the  lamplight.  It  was  that  thought  of  velvety  sable 
that  had  come  to  him  at  the  doorway,  looking  at  Mar- 
ette.  It  was  the  thought  that  came  to  him  now.  He 
touched  it;  he  took  it  in  his  fingers;  he  unwound  it 
from  about  Kedsty's  neck,  where  it  had  made  two  deep 
rings  in  the  flesh.  From  his  fingers  it  rippled  out  full 
length.  And  he  turned  slowly  and  faced  Marette  Rad- 
isson. 

Never  had  human  eyes  looked  at  him  as  she  was 
looking  at  him  now.  She  reached  out  a  hand,  her 
lips  mute,  and  Kent  gave  her  the  tress  of  hair.  And 
the  next  instant  she  turned,  with  a  hand  clasped  at  her 
own  throat,  and  passed  through  the  door. 

After  that  he  heard  her  going  unsteadily  up  the 
stairs. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ENT  did  not  move.  His  senses  for  a  space  were 
stunned.  He  was  almost  physically  insensible  to 
all  emotions  but  that  one  of  shock  and  horror.  He 
was  staring  at  Kedsty's  gray-white,  twisted  face  when 
he  heard  Marette's  door  close.  A  cry  came  from  his 
lips,  but  he  did  not  hear  it — was  unconscious  that  he 
had  made  a  sound.  His  body  shook  with  a  sudden 
tremor.  He  could  not  disbelieve,  for  the  evidence  was 
there.  From  behind,  as  he  had  sat  in  his  chairf, 
Marette  Radisson  had  struck  the  Inspector  of  Police 
with  some  blunt  object.  The  blow  had  stunned  him. 

And  after  that 

He  drew  a  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  if  to  clear  his 
vision.  What  he  had  seen  was  impossible.  The  evi 
dence  was  impossible.  Assaulted,  in  deadly  peril,  de 
fending  either  honor  or  love,  Marette  Radisson  was 
of  the  blood  to  kill.  But  to  creep  up  behind  her  victim 
— it  was  inconceivable !  Yet  there  had  been  no  strug 
gle.  Even  the  automatic  on  the  floor  gave  no  evidence 
of  that.  Kent  picked  it  up.  He  looked  at  it  closely, 
and  again  the  unconscious  cry  of  despair  came  in  a 
half  groan  from  his  lips.  For  on  the  butt  of  the  Colt 
was  a  stain  of  blood  and  a  few  gray  hairs.  Kedsty 
had  been  stunned  by  a  blow  from  his  own  gun! 

196 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        197 

As  Kent  placed  it  on  the  table,  his  eyes  caught  sud 
denly  a  gleam  of  steel  under  the  edge  of  a  newspaper, 
and  he  drew  out  from  their  hiding-place  the  long- 
bladed  clipping  scissors  which  Kedsty  had  used  in  the 
preparation  of  his  scrap-books  and  official  reports.  It 
was  the  last  link  in  the  deadly  evidence — the  auto 
matic  with  its  telltale  stain,  the  scissors,  the  tress  of 
hair,  and  Marette  Radisson.  He  felt  a  sensation  of 
sudden  dizziness.  Every  nerve-center  in  his  body 
had  received  its  shock,  and  when  the  shock  had  passed 
it  left  him  sweating. 

Swiftly  the  reaction  came.  It  was  a  lie,  he  told 
himself.  The  evidence  was  false.  Marette  could  not 
have  committed  that  crime,  as  the  crime  had  visualized 
itself  before  his  eyes.  There  was  something  which  he 
had  not  seen,  something  which  he  could  not  see,  some 
thing  that  was  hiding  itself  from  him.  He  became,  in 
an  instant,  the  old  James  Kent.  The  instinctive  proc 
esses  of  the  man-hunter  leaped  to  their  stations  like 
trained  soldiers.  He  saw  Marette  again,  as  she  had 
looked  at  him  when  he  entered  the  room.  It  was  not 
murder  he  had  caught  in  her  wide-open  eyes.  It  was 
not  hatred.  It  was  not  madness.  It  was  a  quivering, 
bleeding  soul  crying  out  to  him  in  an  agony  that  no 
other  human  eyes  had  ever  revealed  to  him  before.  And 
suddenly  a  great  voice  cried  out  in  his  brain,  drown 
ing  all  other  things,  telling  him  how  contemptible  a 
thing  was  love  unless  in  that  love  was  faith. 

With  his  heart  choking  him,  he  turned  again  to  Ked- 


198       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

sty.  The  futility  of  the  thing  which  he  had  told  him 
self  was  faith  gripped  at  him  sickeningly,  yet  he 
fought  for  that  faith,  even  as  his  eyes  looked  again 
'Upon  the  ghastly  torture  that  was  in  Kedsty's  face. 

He  was  becoming  calmer.  He  touched  the  dead 
man's  cheek  and  found  that  it  was  no  longer  warm. 
The  tragedy  must  have  occurred  an  hour  before.  He 
examined  more  closely  the  abrasion  on  Kedsty's  fore 
head.  It  was  not  a  deep  wound,  and  the  blow  that 
had  made  it  must  have  stunned  the  Inspector  of  Police 
for  only  a  short  time.  In  that  space  the  other  thing 
had  happened.  In  spite  of  his  almost  superhuman 
effort  to  keep  the  picture  away  from  him,  Kent  saw 
it  vividly — the  swift  turning  to  the  table,  the  inspira 
tion  of  the  scissors,  the  clipping  of  the  long  tress  of 
hair,  the  choking  to  death  of  Kedsty  as  he  regained 
consciousness.  Over  and  over  again  be  whispered  to 
himself  the  impossibility  of  it,  the  absurdity  of  it,  the 
utter  incongruity  of  it.  Only  a  brain  gone  mad  would 
have  conceived  that  monstrous  way  of  killing  Kedsty. 
And  Marette  was  not  mad.  She  was  sane. 

Like  the  eyes  of  a  hunting  ferret  his  own  eyes  swept 
quickly  about  the  room.  At  the  four  windows  there 
were  long  curtain  cords.  On  the  walls,  hung  there  as 
trophies,  were  a  number  of  weapons.  On  one  end  of 
Kedsty's  desk,  used  as  a  paperweight,  was  a  stone 
tomahawk.  Still  nearer  to  the  dead  man's  hands,  un 
hidden  by  papers,  was  a  boot-lace.  Under  his  limp 
right  hand  was  the  automatic.  With  these  possible  in- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        199 

struments  of  death  close  at  hand,  ready  to  be  snatched 
up  without  trouble  or  waste  of  time,  why  had  the  mur 
derer  used  a  tress  of  woman's  hair? 

The  boot-lace  drew  Kent's  eyes.  It  was  impossible 
not  to  see  it,  forty-eight  inches  long  and  quarter-inch- 
wide  buckskin.  He  began  seeking  for  its  mate,  and 
found  it  on  the  floor  where  Marette  Radisson  had 
been  standing.  And  again  the  unanswerable  question 
pounded  in  Kent's  brain — why  had  Kedsty's  murderer 
used  a  tress  of  hair  instead  of  a  buckskin  lace  or  one 
of  the  curtain  cords  hanging  conspicuously  at  the 
windows  ? 

He  went  to  each  of  these  windows  and  found  them 
locked.  Then,  a  last  time,  he  bent  over  Kedsty.  He 
knew  that  in  the  final  moments  of  his  life  Kedsty  had 
suffered  a  slow  and  torturing  agony.  His  twisted 
face  left  the  story.  And  the  Inspector  of  Police  was 
a  powerful  man.  He  had  struggled,  still  partly  dazed 
by  the  blow.  But  it  had  taken  strength  to  overcome 
him  even  then,  to  hold  his  head  back,  to  choke  life  out 
of  him  slowly  with  the  noose  of  hair.  And  Kent, 
now  that  the  significance  of  what  he  saw  began  to 
grow  upon  him  more  clearly,  felt  triumphing  over  all 
other  things  in  his  soul  a  slow  and  mighty  joy.  It  was 
inconceivable  that  with  the  strength  of  her  own  hands- 
and  body  Marette  Radisson  had  killed  Kedsty.  A 
greater  strength  than  hers  had  held  him  in  the  death- 
chair,  and  a  greater  strength  than  hers  had  choked  life 
from  the  Inspector  of  Police! 


200       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

He  drew  slowly  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door 
noiselessly  behind  him.  He  found  that  the  front  door 
was  as  Kedsty  had  left  it,  unlocked. 

Close  to  that  door  he  stood  for  a  space,  scarcely 
allowing  himself  to  breathe.  He  listened,  but  no  sound 
came  down  the  dimly  illumined  stairway. 

A  new  thing  was  pressing  upon  him  now.  It  rode 
over  the  shock  of  tragedy,  over  the  first-roused  in 
stincts  of  the  man-hunter,  overwhelming  him  with 
the  realization  of  a  horror  such  as  had  never  con 
fronted  him  before.  It  gripped  him  more  fiercely  than 
the  mere  killing  of  Kedsty.  His  thought  was  of  Mar- 
ette,  of  the  fate  which  dawn  and  discovery  would  bring 
for  her.  His  hands  clenched  and  his  jaws  tightened. 
The  world  was  against  him,  and  tomorrow  it  would 
be  against  her.  Only  he,  in  the  face  of  all  that  con 
demning  evidence  in  the  room  beyond,  would  disbe 
lieve  her  guilty  of  Kedsty's  death.  And  he,  Jim  Kent, 
was  already  a  murderer  in  the  eyes  of  the  law. 

He  felt  within  him  the  slow-growing  inspiration  of 
a  new  spirit,  the  gathering  might  of  a  new  force.  A 
few  hours  ago  he  was  an  outcast.  He  was  condemned. 
Life,  for  him,  had  been  robbed  of  its  last  hope.  And 
in  that  hour  of  his  grimmest  despair  Marette  Radisson 
had  come  to  him.  Through  storm  that  had  rocked 
the  earth  under  her  feet  and  set  ablaze  the  chaotic 
blackness  of  the  sky  over  her  head  she  had  struggled — 
for  him.  She  had  counted  no  cost.  She  had  meas 
ured  no  chances,  She  had  simply  come — because  she 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        201 

believed  in  him.  And  now,  upstairs,  she  was  the  vic 
tim  of  the  terrible  price  that  was  the  first  cost  of  his 
freedom.  For  he  believed,  now  that  the  thought  came 
to  him  like  a  dagger  stroke,  that  this  was  so.  Her  act 
in  freeing  him  had  brought  about  the  final  climax,  and 
as  a  result  of  it,  Kedsty  was  dead. 

He  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stair.  Quietly,  in  his 
shoeless  feet,  he  began  to  climb  them.  He  wanted  to 
cry  out  Marette's  name  even  before  he  came  to  the 
top.  He  wanted  to  reach  up  to  her  with  his  arms  out 
stretched.  But  he  came  silently  to  her  door  and  looked 
in. 

She  lay  in  a  crumpled,  huddled  heap  on  her  bed.  Her 
face  was  hidden,  and  all  about  her  lay  her  smothering 
hair.  For  a  moment  he  was  frightened.  He  could  not 
see  that  she  was  breathing.  So  still  was  she  that  she 
was  like  one  dead. 

His  footsteps  were  unheard  as  he  moved  across  the 
room.  He  knelt  down  beside  her,  reached  out  his 
arms,  and  gathered  her  into  them. 

"Marette !"  he  cried  in  a  low  voice. 

He  felt  the  sudden  quiver,  like  a  little  shock,  that 
ran  through  her.  He  crushed  his  face  down,  so  that 
it  lay  in  her  hair,  still  damp  from  its  wetting.  He 
drew  her  closer,  tightening  his  arms  about  her  slender 
body,  and  a  little  cry  came  from  her  a  cry  that  was  a 
broken  thing,  a  sob  without  tears. 

"Marette!" 

It  was  all  he  said.    It  was  all  he  could  say  in  that 


202       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

moment  when  his  heart  was  beating  like  a  drum 
against  her  breast.  And  then  he  felt  the  slow  pres 
sure  of  her  hands  against  him,  saw  her  white  face,  her 
wide,  staring  eyes  within  a  few  inches  of  his  own,  and 
she  drew  away  from  him,  back  against  the  wall,  still 
huddled  like  a  child  on  the  bed,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
him  in  a  way  that  frightened  him.  There  were  no 
tears  in  them.  She  had  not  been  crying.  But  her 
face  was  as  white  as  he  had  seen  it  down  in  Kedsty's 
room.  Some  of  the  horror  and  shock  had  gone  out 
of  it.  In  it  was  another  look  as  her  eyes  glowed  upon 
Kent.  It  was  a  look  of  incredulity,  of  disbelief,  a 
thing  slowly  fading  away  under  the  miracle  of  an 
amazing  revelation.  The  truth  thrust  itself  upon  him. 

Marette  had  not  expected  that  he  would  come  to 
her  like  this.  She  had  believed  that  he  would  take 
flight  into  the  night,  escaping  from  her  as  he  would 
have  run  from  a  plague.  She  put  up  her  two  hands, 
in  the  trick  they  had  of  groping  at  her  white  throat, 
and  her  lips  formed  a  word  which  she  did  not  speak. 

Kent,  to  his  own  amazement,  was  smiling  and  still 
on  his  knees.  He  pulled  himself  to  his  feet,  and  stood 
up  straight,  looking  down  at  her  in  that  same  strange, 
comforting,  all-powerful  way.  The  thrill  of  it  was 
passing  into  her  veins.  A  flush  of  color  was  driving 
the  deathly  pallor  from  her  face.  Her  lips  were 
parted,  and  she  breathed  quickly,  a  little  excitedly. 

"I  thought — you  would  go!"  she  said. 


"Marettt!"      It  was  all  he  said 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       203 

"Not  without  you,"  he  said.  "I  have  come  to  take 
you  with  me/' 

He  drew  out  his  watch.  It  was  two  o'clock.  He 
held  it  down  so  that  she  could  look  at  the  dial. 

"If  the  storm  keeps  up,  we  have  three  hours  before 
dawn,"  he  said.  "How  soon  can  you  be  ready,  Mar- 
ette?" 

He  was  fighting  to  make  his  voice  quiet  and  unex- 
cited.  It  was  a  terrific  struggle.  And  Marette  was 
not  blind  to  it.  She  drew  herself  from  the  bed  and 
stood  up  before  him,  her  two  hands  still  clasped  at 
her  throbbing  throat. 

"You  believe— that  I  killed  Kedsty,"  she  said  in  a 
voice  that  was  forced  from  her  lips.  "And  you  have 
come  to  help  me — to  pay  me  for  what  I  tried  to  do  for 
you  ?  That  is  it— Jeems  ?" 

"Pay  you?"  he  cried.  "I  couldn't  pay  you  in  a 
million  years !  From  that  day  you  first  came  to  Cardi 
gan's  place  you  gave  me  life.  You  came  when  the  last 
spark  of  hope  in  me  had  died.  I  shall  always  believe 
that  I  would  have  died  that  night.  But  you  saved  me. 

"From  the  moment  I  saw  you  I  loved  you,  and  I  be 
lieve  it  was  that  love  that  kept  me  alive.  And  then 
you  came  to  me  again,  down  there,  through  this  storm. 
Pay  you!  I  can't.  I  never  shall  be  able  to.  Because 
you  thought  I  had  killed  a  man  made  no  difference. 
You  came  just  the  same.  And  you  came  ready  to  kill, 
if  necessary — for  me.  I'm  not  trying  to  tell  myself 
why!  But  you  did.  You  were  ready  to  kill.  And  I 


204        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

am  ready  to  kill — tonight — for  you!  I  haven't  got 
time  to  think  about  Kedsty.  I'm  thinking  about  you. 
If  you  killed  him,  I'm  just  telling  myself  there  was  a 
mighty  good  reason  for  it.  But  I  don't  believe  it  was 
you  who  killed  him.  You  couldn't  do  it — with  those 
hands!" 

He  reached  out  suddenly  and  seized  them,  slipping 
his  grip  to  her  wrists,  so  that  her  hands  lay  upward 
in  his  own,  hands  that  were  small,  slim-fingered,  soft- 
palmed,  beautiful. 

"They  couldn't !"  he  cried,  almost  fiercely.  "I  swear 
to  God  they  couldn't!" 

Her  eyes  and  face  flamed  at  his  words.  "You  be 
lieve  that,  Jeems  ?" 

"Yes,  just  as  you  believe  that  I  did  not  kill  John 
Barkley.  But  the  world  is  against  us.  It  is  against 
us  both  now.  And  we've  got  to  hunt  that  hidden  val 
ley  of  yours  together.  Understand,  Marette?  And 
I'm— rather  glad." 

He  turned  toward  the  door.  "Will  you  be  ready 
in  ten  minutes  ?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded.    "Yes,  in  ten  minutes." 

He  ran  out  into  the  hall  and  down  the  stair,  locking 
the  front  door.  Then  he  returned  to  his  hiding-place 
under  the  roof.  He  knew  that  a  strange  sort  of  mad 
ness  was  in  his  blood,  for  in  the  face  of  tonight's 
tragedy  only  madness  could  inspire  him  with  the 
ecstatic  thrill  that  was  in  his  veins.  Kedsty's  death 
seemed  far  removed  from  a  more  important  thing — 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        205 

the  fact  that  from  this  hour  Marette  was  his  to  fight 
for,  that  she  belonged  to  him,  that  she  must  go  with 
him.  He  loved  her.  In  spite  of  whoever  she  was  and 
whatever  she  had  done,  he  loved  her.  Very  soon  she 
would  tell  him  what  had  happened  in  the  room  below, 
and  the  thing  would  be  clear. 

There  was  one  little  corner  of  his  brain  that  fought 
him.  It  kept  telling  him,  like  a  parrot,  that  it  was  a 
tress  of  Marette's  hair  about  Kedsty's  throat,  and  that 
it  was  the  hair  that  had  choked  him.  But  Marette 
would  explain  that,  too.  He  was  sure  of  it.  In  the 
face  of  the  facts  below  he  was  illogical  and  unreason 
able.  He  knew  it.  But  his  love  for  this  girl,  who  had 
come  strangely  and  tragically  into  his  life,  was  like  an 
intoxicant.  And  his  faith  was  illimitable.  She  did 
not  kill  Kedsty.  Another  part  of  his  brain  kept  re 
peating  that  over  and  over,  even  as  he  recalled  that 
only  a  few  hours  before  she  had  told  him  quite  calmly 
that  she  would  kill  the  Inspector  of  Police — if  a  cer 
tain  thing  should  happen. 

His  hands  worked  as  swiftly  as  his  thoughts.  He 
laced  up  his  service  boots.  All  the  food  and  dishes  on 
the  table  he  made  into  a  compact  bundle  and  placed  in 
the  shoulder-pack.  He  carried  this  and  the  rifle  out 
into  the  hall.  Then  he  returned  to  Marette's  room. 
The  door  was  closed.  At  his  knock  the  girl's  voice 
told  him  that  she  was  not  quite  ready. 

He  waited.  He  could  hear  her  moving  about  quick 
ly  in  her  room.  An  interval  of  silence  followed.  An- 


206       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

other  five  minutes  passed — ten — fifteen.  He  tapped 
at  the  door  again.  This  time  it  was  opened. 

He  stared,  amazed  at  the  change  in  Marette.  She 
had  stepped  back  from  the  door  to  let  him  enter,  and 
stood  full  in  the  lamp-glow.  Her  slim,  beautiful  body 
was  dressed  in  a  velvety  blue  corduroy;  the  coat  was 
close-fitting  and  boyish ;  the  skirt  came  only  a  little  be 
low  her  knees.  On  her  feet  were  high-topped  caribou 
boots.  About  her  waist  was  a  holster  and  the  little 
black  gun.  Her  hair  was  done  up  and  crowded  under 
a  close-fitting  turban.  She  was  exquisitely  lovely,  as 
she  stood  there  waiting  for  him,  and  in  that  loveliness 
Kent  saw  there  was  not  one  thing  out  of  place.  The 
corduroy,  the  turban,  the  short  skirt,  and  the  high, 
laced  boots  were  made  for  the  wilderness.  She  was 
not  a  tenderfoot.  She  was  a  little  sourdough — clear 
through!  Gladness  leaped  into  Kent's  face.  But  it 
was  not  the  transformation  of  her  dress  alone  that 
amazed  him.  She  was  changed  in  another  way.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed.  Her  eyes  glowed  with  a  strange 
and  wonderful  radiance  as  she  looked  at  him.  Her 
lips  were  red,  as  he  had  seen  them  that  first  .time  at 
Cardigan's  place.  Her  pallor,  her  fear,  her  horror 
were  gone,  and  in  their  place  was  the  repressed  excite 
ment  of  one  about  to  enter  upon  a  strange  adventure. 

On  the  floor  was  a  pack  only  half  as  large  as  Kent's 
and  when  he  picked  it  up,  he  found  it  of  almost  no 
weight.  He  fastened  it  to  his  own  pack  while  Mar 
ette  put  on  her  raincoat  and  went  down  the  stair  ahead 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        20? 

of  him.  In  the  hall  below  she  was  waiting,  when  he 
came  down,  with  Kedsty's  big  rubber  slicker  in  her 
hands. 

"You  must  put  it  on,"  she  said. 

She  shuddered  slightly  as  she  held  the  garment. 
The  color  was  almost  gone  from  her  cheeks,  as  she 
faced  the  door  beyond  which  the  dead  man  sat  in  his 
chair,  but  the  marvelous  glow  was  still  in  her  eyes  as 
she  helped  Kent  with  his  pack  and  the  slicker  and 
afterward  stood  for  an  instant  with  her  hands  touch 
ing  his  breast  and  her  lips  as  if  about  to  speak  some 
thing  which  she  held  back. 

A  few  steps  beyond  them  they  heard  the  storm.  It 
seemed  to  rush  upon  the  bungalow  in  a  new  fury,  beat 
ing  at  the  door,  crashing  over  their  heads  in  thunder, 
daring  them  to  come  out.  Kent  reached  up  and  turned 
out  the  hall  light. 

In  darkness  he  opened  the  door.  Rain  and  wind 
swept  in.  With  his  free  hand  he  groped  out,  found 
Marette,  drew  her  after  him,  and  closed  the  door 
again.  Entering  from  the  lighted  hall  into  the  storm 
was  like  being  swallowed  in  a  pit  of  blackness.  It 
engulfed  and  smothered  them.  Then  came  suddenly 
a  flash  of  lightning,  and  he  saw  Marette's  face,  white 
and  drenched,  but  looking  at  him  with  that  same 
strange  glow  in  her  eyes.  It  thrilled  him.  Even  in 
the  darkness  it  was  there.  It  had  been  there  since  he 
had  retimed  to  her  from  Kedsty  and  had  knelt  at 
her  bedside,  with  his  arms  about  her  for  a  moment. 


208       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Only  now,  in  the  beat  of  the  storm,  did  an  answer 
to  the  miracle  of  it  come  to  him.  It  was  because 
of  him.  It  was  because  of  his  faith  in  her.  Even 
death  and  horror  could  not  keep  it  from  her  eyes.  He 
wanted  to  cry  out  the  joy  of  his  discovery,  to  give 
wild  voice  to  it  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind  and  the  rain. 
He  felt  sweeping  through  him  a  force  mightier  than 
that  of  the  night.  Her  hands  were  on  his  arm,  as  if 
she  was  afraid  of  losing  him  in  that  pit  of  blackness; 
the  soft  cling  of  them  was  like  a  contact  through 
which  came  a  warm  thrill  of  electrical  life.  He  put 
out  his  arm  and  drew  her  to  him,  so  that  for  a  moment 
his  face  pressed  against  the  top  of  her  wet  little  turban. 

And  then  he  heard  her  say:  "There  is  a  scow  at 
the  bayou,  Jeems.  It  is  close  to  the  end  of  the  path. 
M'sieu  Fingers  has  kept  it  there,  waiting,  ready." 

He  had  been  thinking  of  Crossen's  place  and  an 
open  boat.  He  blessed  Fingers  again,  as  he  took  Mar- 
ette's  hand  in  his  own  and  started  for  the  trail  that 
led  through  the  poplar  thicket. 

Their  feet  slopped  deep  in  wet  and  mud,  and  with 
the  rain  there  was  a  wind  that  took  their  breath  away. 
It  was  impossible  to  see  a  tree  an  arm's  length  away, 
and  Kent  hoped  that  the  lightning  would  come  fre 
quently  enough  to  guide  him.  In  the  first  flare  of  it 
he  looked  down  the  slope  that  led  riverward.  Little 
rivulets  of  water  were  running  down  it.  Rc.cks  and 
stumps  were  in  their  way,  and  underfoot  it  ^?as  slip 
pery.  Marette's  fingers  were  clinging  to  Irs  again, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       209 

as  she  had  held  to  them  on  the  wild  race  up  to  Ked- 
sty's  bungalow  from  the  barracks.  He  had  tingled  then 
in  the  sheer  joy  of  their  thrill,  but  it  wras  a  different 
thrill  that  stirred  him  now — an  overwhelming  emotion 
of  possessorship.  This  night,  with  its  storm  and  its 
blackness,  was  the  most  wonderful  of  all  his  nights. 

He  sensed  nothing  of  its  discomfort.  It  could  not 
beat  back  the  joyous  racing  of  the  blood  in  his  body. 
Sun  and  stars,  day  and  night,  sunshine  and  cloud, 
were  trivial  and  inconsequential  to  him  now.  For 
close  to  him,  struggling  with  him,  fighting  through 
the  night  with  him,  trusting  him,  helpless  without  him, 
was  the  living,  breathing  thing  he  loved  more  than  he 
loved  his  own  life.  For  many  years,  without  know 
ing  it,  he  had  waited  for  this  night,  and  now  that  it 
was  upon  him,  it  inundated  and  swept  away  his  old 
life.  He  was  no  longer  the  huntsman,  but  the  hunted. 
He  was  no  longer  alone,  but  had  a  priceless  thing  to 
fight  for,  a  priceless  and  helpless  thing  that  was 
clinging  to  his  fingers  in  the  darkness.  He  did  not 
feel  like  a  fugitive,  but  as  one  who  has  come  into  a 
great  triumph.  He  sensed  no  uncertainty  or  doubt. 

The  river  lay  ahead,  and  for  him  the  river  had  be 
come  the  soul  and  the  promise  of  life.  It  was  Mar- 
ette's  river  and  his  river,  and  in  a  little  while  they 
would  be  on  it.  And  Marette  would  then  tell  him 
about  Kedsty.  He  was  sure  of  that.  She  would  tell 
him  what  had  happened  while  he  slept.  His  faith  was 
illimitable. 


210        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

They  came  into  the  sodden  dip  at  the  foot  of  the 
ridge,  and  the  lightning  revealed  to  him  the  edge  of 
the  poplar  growth  in  which  O'Connor  had  seen  Mar- 
ette  many  weeks  ago.  The  bayou  trail  wound  through 
this,  and  Kent  struck  out  for  it  blindly  in  the  dark 
ness.  He  did  not  try  to  talk,  but  he  freed  his  com 
panion's  hand  and  put  his  arm  about  her  when  they 
came  to  the  level  ground,  so  that  she  was  sheltered 
by  him  from  the  beat  of  the  storm.  Then  brush 
swished  in  their  faces,  and  they  stopped,  waiting  for 
the  lightning  again.  Kent  was  not  anxious  for  it  to 
come.  He  drew  the  girl  still  closer,  and  in  that  pit 
of  blackness,  with  the  deluge  about  her  and  the 
crash  of  thunder  over  her  head,  she  snuggled  up 
against  his  breast,  the  throb  of  her  body  against  him, 
waiting,  watching,  with  him.  Her  frailty,  the  help 
lessness  of  her,  the  slimness  of  her  in  the  crook  of 
his  arm,  filled  him  with  an  exquisite  exultation.  He 
did  not  think  of  her  now  as  the  splendid,  fearless 
creature  who  had  leveled  her  little  black  gun  at  the 
three  men  in  barracks.  She  \vas  no  longer  the  mys 
terious,  defiant,  unafraid  person  who  had  held  him  in 
a  sort  of  awe  that  first  hour  in  Kedsty's  place.  For 
she  was  crumpled  against  him  now,  utterly  depend 
ent  and  afraid.  In  that  chaos  of  storm  something  told 
him  that  her  nerve  was  broken,  that  without  him  she 
would  be  lost  and  would  cry  out  in  fear.  And  he 
was  cflad!  He  held  her  tighter ;  he  bent  his  head  until 
his  face  touched  the  wet,  crushed  hair  under  the  edge 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       211 

of  her  turban.  And  then  the  lightning  split  open  the 
night  again,  and  he  saw  the  way  ahead  of  him  to  the 
trail. 

Even  in  darkness  it  was  not  difficult  to  follow  in 
the  clean-cut  wagon  path.  Over  their  heads  the  tops 
of  the  poplars  swished  and  wailed.  Under  their  feet 
the  roadway  in  places  was  a  running  stream  or  in 
undated  until  it  became  a  pool.  In  pitch  blackness 
they  struck  such  a  pool,  and  in  spite  of  the  handicap 
of  his  packs  and  rifle  Kent  stopped  suddenly,  and 
picked  Marette  up  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  until 
they  reached  high  ground.  He  did  not  ask  permission. 
And  Marette,  for  a  minute  or  two,  lay  crumpled  up 
close  in  his  arms,  and  for  a  thrilling  instant  his  face 
touched  her  rain-wet  cheek. 

The  miracle  of  their  adventure  was  that  neither 
spoke.  To  Kent  the  silence  between  them  had  become 
a  thing  which  he  had  no  desire  to  break.  In  that  si 
lence,  excused  and  abetted  by  the  tumult  of  the  storm, 
he  felt  that  a  wonderful  something  was  drawing  them 
closer  and  closer  together,  and  that  words  might  spoil 
the  indescribable  magic  of  the  thing  that  was  happen 
ing.  When  he  set  Marette  on  her  feet  again,  her  hand 
accidentally  fell  upon  his,  and  for  a  moment  her  fin 
gers  closed  upon  it  in  a  soft  pressure  that  meant  more 
to  him  than  a  thousand  words  of  gratitude. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  poplar  thicket  they 
came  to  the  edge  of  the  spruce  and  cedar  timber,  and 
fioon  the  thick  walls  of  the  forest  shut  them  in,  shel- 


212        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

tering  them  from  the  wind,  but  the  blackness  was 
even  more  like  that  of  a  bottomless  pit.  Kent  had 
noticed  that  the  thunder  and  lightning  were  drifting 
steadily  eastward,  and  now  the  occasional  flashes  of 
electrical  fire  scarcely  illumined  the  trail  ahead  of 
them.  The  rain  was  not  beating  so  fiercely.  They 
could  hear  the  wail  of  the  spruce  and  cedar  tops  and 
the  slush  of  their  boots  in  mud  and  water.  An  inter 
val  came,  where  the  spruce-tops  met  overhead,  when 
it  was  almost  calm.  It  was  then  that  Kent  threw  out 
of  him  a  great,  deep  breath  and  laughed  joyously  and 
exultantly. 

"Are  you  wet,  little  Gray  Goose?" 

"Only  outside,  Big  Otter.  My  feathers  have  kept 
me  dry." 

Her  voice  had  a  trembling,  half-sobbing,  half-re 
joicing  note  in  it.  It  was  not  the  voice  of  one  who 
had  recently  killed  a  man.  In  it  was  a  pathos  which 
Kent  knew  she  was  trying  to  hide  behind  brave  words. 
Her  hands  clung  to  the  arm  of  his  rubber  slicker  even 
as  they  stood  there,  close  together,  as  if  she  was  afraid 
something  might  drag  them  apart  in  that  treacherous 
gloom.  Kent,  fumbling  for  a  moment,  drew  from  an 
inner  pocket  a  dry  handkerchief.  Then  he  found  her 
face,  tilted  it  a  bit  upward,  and  wiped  it  dry.  He 
might  have  done  the  same  thing  to  a  child  who  had 
been  crying.  After  that  he  scrubbed  his  own,  and 
l^ey  went  on,  his  arm  about  her  again. 

It  was  half  a  mile  from  the  edge  of  the  forest  to 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       213 

the  bayou,  and  half  a  dozen  times  in  that  distance 
Kent  took  the  girl  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  through 
water  that  almost  reached  his  boot  tops.  The  light 
ning  no  longer  served  them.  The  rain  still  fell  steadily, 
but  the  win'd  had  gone  with  the  eastward  sweep  of 
the  storm.  Close-hung  with  the  forest  walls,  the  bayou 
itself  was  indiscernible  in  the  blackness.  Marette 
guided  him  now,  though  Kent  walked  ahead  of  her, 
holding  firmly  to  her  hand.  Unless  Fingers  had 
changed  its  location,  the  scow  should  be  somewhere 
within  forty  or  fifty  paces  of  the  end  of  the  trail. 
It  was  small,  a  two-man  scow,  with  a  tight  little  house 
built  amidships.  And  it  was  tied  close  up  against  the 
shore.  Marette  told  him  this  as  they  felt  their  way 
through  brush  and  reeds.  Then  he  stumbled  against 
something  taut  and  knee-high,  and  he  found  it  was 
the  tie-rope. 

Leaving  Marette  with  her  back  to  the  anchor  tree, 
he  went  aboard.  The  water  was  three  or  four  inches 
deep  in  the  bottom  of  the  scow,  but  the  cabin  was 
built  on  a  platform  raised  above  the  floor  of  the  boat, 
and  Kent  hoped  it  was  still  dry.  He  groped  until  he 
found  the  twisted  wire  which  held  the  door  shut. 
Opening  it,  he  ducked  his  head  low  and  entered.  The 
little  room  was  not  more  than  four  feet  high,  and  for 
greater  convenience  he  fell  upon  his  knees  while  fum 
bling  under  his  slicker  for  his  water-proof  box  of 
matches.  The  water  had  not  yet  risen  above  the  floor. 

The  first  light  he  struck  revealed  the  interior  to  him. 


214       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

It  was  a  tiny  cabin,  scarcely  larger  than  some  boxes 
he  had  seen.  It  was  about  eight  feet  long  by  six  in 
width,  and  the  ceiling  was  so  low  that,  even  kneeling, 
his  head  touched  it.  His  match  burned  out,  and  he 
lighted  another.  This  time  he  saw  a  candle  stuck  in 
a  bit  of  split  birch  that  projected  from  the  wall.  He 
crept  to  it  and  lighted  it.  For  a  moment  he  looked 
about  him,  and  again  he  blessed  Fingers.  The  little 
scow  was  prepared  for  a  voyage.  Two  narrow  bunks 
were  built  at  the  far  end,  one  so  close  above  the  other 
that  Kent  grinned  as  he  thought  of  squeezing  between. 
There  were  blankets.  Within  reach  of  his  arm  was  a 
tiny  stove,  and  close  to  the  stove  a  supply  of  kindling 
and  dry  wood.  The  whole  thing  made  him  think  of 
a  child's  playhouse.  Yet  there  was  still  room  for  a 
wide,  comfortable,  cane-bottomed  chair,  a  stool,  and 
a  smooth-planed  board  fastened  under  a  window,  so 
that  it  answered  the  purpose  of  a  table.  This  table 
was  piled  with  many  packages. 

He  stripped  off  his  packs  and  returned  for  Marette. 
She  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  scow  and  called  to 
him  softly  as  she  heard  him  splashing  through  the 
water.  Her  arms  were  reaching  toward  him,  to  meet 
him  in  the  darkness.  He  carried  her  through  the  shal 
low  sea  about  his  feet  and  laughed  as  he  put  her  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  platform  at  the  door.  It  was  a  low, 
joyous  laugh.  The  yellow  light  of  the  candle  sput 
tered  in  their  wet  faces.  Only  dimly  could  he  see 
her,  but  her  eyes  were  shining. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       215 

"Your  nest,  little  Gray  Goose,"  he  cried  gently. 

Her  hand  reached  up  and  touched  his  face.  "You 
have  been  good  to  me,  Jeems,"  she  said,  a  little  trem 
ble  in  her  voice.  "You  may — kiss  me." 

Out  in  the  beat  of  the  rain  Kent's  heart  choked  him 
with  song.  His  soul  swelled  with  the  desire  to  shout 
forth  a  paean  of  joy  and  triumph  at  the  world  he  was 
leaving  this  night  for  all  time.  With  the  warm  thrill 
of  Marette's  lips  he  had  become  the  superman,  and 
as  he  leaped  ashore  in  the  darkness  and  cut  the  tie-rope 
with  a  single  slash  of  his  knife,  he  wanted  to  give  voice 
to  the  thing  that  was  in  him  as  the  rivermen  had 
chanted  in  the  glory  of  their  freedom  the  day  the  big 
brigade  started  north.  And  he  did  sing,  under  his 
laughing,  sobbing  breath.  With  a  giant's  strength  he 
sent  the  scow  out  into  the  bayou,  and  then  back  and 
forth  he  swung  the  long  one-man  sweep,  twisting  the 
craft  riverward  with  the  force  of  two  pairs  of  arms 
instead  of  one.  Behind  the  closed  door  of  the  tiny 
cabin  was  all  that  the  world  now  held  worth  fighting 
for.  By  turning  his  head  he  could  see  the  faint  illumi 
nation  of  the  candle  at  the  window.  The  light — the 
cabin — Marette ! 

He  laughed  inanely,  foolishly,  like  a  boy.  He  began 
to  hear  a  dull,  droning  murmur,  a  sound  that  with 
each  stroke  of  the  sweep  grew  into  a  more  distinct, 
cataract-like  roar.  It  was  the  river.  Swollen  by  flood, 
it  was  a  terrifying  sound.  But  Kent  did  not  dread  it. 
It  was  his  river;  it  was  his  friend.  It  was  the  pulse 


216       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

and  throb  of  life  to  him  now.  The  growing  tumult 
of  it  was  not  menace,  but  the  joyous  thunder  of  many 
voices  calling  to  him,  rejoicing  at  his  coming.  It  grew 
in  his  ears.  Over  his  head  the  black  sky  opened 
again,  and  a  deluge  of  rain  fell  straight  down.  But 
above  the  sound  of  it  the  rush  of  the  river  drew  nearer, 
and  still  nearer.  He  felt  the  first  eddying  swirl  of 
it  against  the  scow  head,  and  powerful  hands  seemed 
to  reach  in  out  of  the  darkness.  He  knew  that  the 
nose  of  the  current  had  caught  him  and  was  carrying 
him  out  on  the  breast  of  the  stream.  He  shipped  the 
sweep  and  straightened  himself,  facing  the  utter  chaos 
of  blackness  ahead.  He  felt  under  him  the  slow  and 
mighty  pulse  of  the  great  flood  as  it  swept  toward 
the  Slave,  the  Mackenzie,  and  the  Arctic.  And  he 
cried  out  at  last  in  the  downpour  of  storm,  a  cry  of 
joy,  of  exultation,  of  hope  that  reached  beyond  the 
laws  of  men — and  then  he  turned  toward  the  little 
cabin,  where  through  the  thickness  of  sodden  night 
the  tiny  window  was  glowing  yellow  with  candle-light. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

*  I  AO  the  cabin  Kent  groped  his  way,  and  knocked, 
-*•  and  it  was  Marette  who  opened  the  door  for  him 
and  stepped  back  for  him  to  enter.  Like  a  great  wet 
dog  he  came  in,  doubling  until  his  hands  almost 
touched  the  floor.  He  sensed  the  incongruity  of  it,  the 
misplacement  of  his  overgrown  body  in  this  playhouse 
thing,  and  he  grinned  through  the  trickles  of  wet 
that  ran  down  his  face,  and  tried  to  see.  Marette  had 
taken  off  her  turban  and  rain-coat,  and  she,  too, 
stooped  low  in  the  four-feet  space  of  the  cabin — but 
not  so  ridiculously  low  as  Kent.  He  dropped  on  his 
knees  again.  And  then  he  saw  that  in  the  tiny  stove 
a  fire  was  burning.  The  crackle  of  it  rose  above  the 
beat  of  the  rain  on  the  roof,  and  the  air  was  already 
mellowing  with  the  warmth  of  it.  He  looked  at  Mar 
ette.  Her  wet  hair  was  still  clinging  to  her  face, 
her  feet  and  arms  and  part  of  her  body  were  wet; 
but  her  eyes  were  shining,  and  she  was  smiling  at 
him.  She  seemed  to  him,  in  this  moment,  like  a  child 
that  was  glad  it  had  found  refuge.  He  had  thought 
that  the  terror  of  the  night  would  show  in  her  face, 
but  it  was  gone.  She  was  not  thinking  of  the  thunder 
and  the  lightning,  the  black  trail,  or  of  Kedsty  lying 
dead  in  his  bungalow.  She  was  thinking  of  him. 

217 


218       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

He  laughed  outright.     It  was  a  jc^ous,  thrilling 
thing,  this  black  night  with  the  storm  over  their  heads 
and  the  roll  of  the  great  river  under  them — they  two 
— alone — in  this  cockleshell  cabin  that  was  not  high 
enough  to  stand  in  and  scarcely  big  enough  in  any 
direction  to  turn  round  in.    The  snug  cheer  of  it,  the 
warmth  of  the  fire  beginning  to  reach  their  chilled 
bodies,  and  the  inspiring  crackle  of  the  birch  in  the 
little  stove  filled  Kent,  for  a  space,  with  other  thoughts' 
than  those  of  the  world  they  were  leaving.    And  Mar- 
ette,  whose  eyes  and  lips  were  smiling  at  him  softly 
in  the  candle-glow,  seemed  also  to  have  forgotten.    It 
was  the  little  window  that  brought  them  back  to  the 
tragedy  of  their  flight.     Kent  visioned  it  as  it  must 
look  from  the  shore — a  telltale  blotch  of  light  travel 
ing  through  the  darkness.    There  were  occasional  cab 
ins   for   several   miles   below  the  Landing,   and   eyes 
turned  riverward  in  the  storm  might  see  it.    He  made 
his  way  to  the  window  and  fastened  his  slicker  over  it. 
"We're  off,  Gray  Goose,"  he  said  then,  rubbing  his 
hands.    "Would  it  seem  more  homelike  if  I  smoked?" 
She  nodded,  her  eyes  on  the  slicker  at  the  window. 
"It's  pretty  safe,"  said  Kent,  fishing  out  his  pipe, 
and  beginning  to  fill  it.     "Everybody  asleep,  probably. 
But  we  won't  take  any  chances."  The  scow  was  swing 
ing  sideways  in  the  current.     Kent  felt  the  change  in 
its   movement,    and    added:      "No   danger   of   being 
wrecked,  either.     There  isn't  a  rock  or  rapids   for 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       219 

thirty  miles.  River  clear  as  a  floor.  If  we  bump 
ashore,  don't  get  frightened." 

"I'm  not  afraid — of  the  river,"  she  said.  Then, 
with  rather  startling  unexpectedness,  she  asked  him, 
"Where  will  they  look  for  us  tomorrow?" 

Kent  lighted  his  pipe,  eyeing  her  a  bit  speculatively 
as  she  seated  herself  on  the  stool,  leaning  toward  him 
as  she  waited  for  an  answer  to  her  question. 

"The  woods,  the  river,  everywhere,"  he  said. 
"They'll  look  for  a  missing  boat,  of  course.  We've 
simply  got  to  watch  behind  us  and  take  advantage  of 
a  good  start." 

"Will  the  rain  wipe  out  our  footprints,  Jeems?" 

"Yes.    Everything  in  the  open." 

"But — perhaps — in  a  sheltered  place ?" 

"We  were  in  no  sheltered  place,"  he  assured  her. 
"Can  you  remember  that  we  were,  Gray  Goose?" 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "No.  But  there  was 
Mooie,  under  the  window." 

"His  footprints  will  be  wiped  out." 

"I  am  glad.  I  would  not  have  him,  or  M'sieu  Fin 
gers,  or  any  of  our  friends  brought  into  this  trouble." 

She  made  no  effort  to  hide  the  relief  his  words 
brought  her.  He  was  a  little  amazed  that  she  should 
worry  over  Fingers  and  the  old  Indian  in  this  hour 
of  their  own  peril.  That  danger  he  had  decided  to 
keep  as  far  from  her  mind  as  possible.  But  she  could 
not  help  realizing  the  impending  menace  of  it.  She 
must  know  that  within  a  few  hours  Kedsty  would  be 


220       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

found,  and  the  long  arm  of  the  wilderness  police  would 
begin  its  work.  And  if  it  caught  them 

She  had  thrust  her  feet  toward  him  and  was  wrig 
gling  them  inside  her  boots,  so  that  he  heard  the 
slushing  sound  of  water.  "Ugh,  but  they  are  wet!" 
she  shivered.  "Will  you  unlace  them  and  pull  them 
off  for  me,  Jeems?" 

He  laid  his  pipe  aside  and  knelt  close  to  her.  It 
took  him  five  minutes  to  get  the  boots  off.  Then  he 
held  one  of  her  sodden  little  feet  close  between  his 
two  big  hands. 

"Cold — cold  as  ice,"  he  said.  "You  must  take  off 
your  stockings,  Marette.  Please." 

He  arranged  a  pile  of  wood  in  front  of  the  stove 
and  covered  it  with  a  blanket  which  he  pulled  from 
one  of  the  bunks.  Then,  still  on  his  knees,  he  drew 
the  cane  chair  close  to  the  fire  and  covered  it  with  a 
second  blanket.  A  few  moments  later  Marette  was 
tucked  comfortably  in  this  chair,  with  her  bare  feet 
on  the  blanketed  pile  of  wood.  Kent  opened  the  stove 
door.  Then  he  extinguished  one  of  the  smoking  can 
dles,  and  after  that,  the  other.  The  flaming  birch 
illumined  the  little  cabin  with  a  mellower  light.  It 
gave  a  subdued  flush  to  the  girl's  face.  Her  eyes 
seemed  to  Kent  wonderfully  soft  and  beautiful  in  that 
changed  light.  And  when  he  had  finished,  she  reached 
out  a  hand,  and  for  an  instant  it  touched  his  face  and 
his  wet  hair  so  lightly  that  he  sensed  the  thrilling 
caress  of  it  without  feeling  its  weight. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       221 

"You  are  so  good  to  me,  Jeems,"  she  said,  and  he 
thought  there  was  a  little  choking  note  in  her  throat. 

He  had  seated  himself  on  the  floor,  close  to  her 
chair,  with  his  back  to  the  wall.  "It  is  because  I  love 
you,  Gray  Goose,"  he  replied  quietly,  looking  straight 
into  the  fire. 

She  was  silent.  She,  too,  was  looking  into  the  fire. 
Close  over  their  heads  they  heard  the  beating  of  the 
rain,  like  a  thousand  soft  little  fists  pounding  the  top 
of  the  cabin.  Under  them  they  could  feel  the  slow 
swinging  of  the  scow  as  it  responded  to  the  twists 
and  vagaries  of  the  current  that  was  carrying  them  on. 
And  Kent,  unseen  by  the  girl  who  was  looking  away 
from  him,  raised  his  eyes.  The  birch  light  was  glow 
ing  in  her  hair;  it  trembled  on  her  white  throat;  her 
long  lashes  were  caught  in  the  shimmer  of  it.  And, 
looking  at  her,  Kent  thought  of  Kedsty  lying  back 
in  his  bungalow  room,  choked  to  death  by  a  tress  of 
that  glorious  hair,  so  near  to  him  now  that,  by  lean 
ing  a  little  forward,  he  might  have  touched  it  with  his 
lips.  The  thought  brought  him  no  horror.  For  even 
as  he  looked,  one  of  her  hands  crept  up  to  her  cheek 
— the  small,  soft  hand  that  had  touched  his  face  and 
hair  as  lightly  as  a  bit  of  thistle-down — and  he  knew 
that  two  hands  like  that  could  not  have  killed  a  man 
who  was  fighting  for  life  when  he  died. 

And  Kent  reached  up,  and  took  the  hand,  and  held 
it  close  in  his  own,  as  he  said,  "Little  Gray  Goose, 
please  tell  me  now — what  happened  in  Kedsty's  room  ?" 


222        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

His  voice  thrilled  with  an  immeasurable  faith.  He 
wanted  her  to  know,  no  matter  what  had  happened, 
that  this  faith  and  his  love  for  her  could  not  be  shaken. 
He  believed  in  her,  and  would  always  believe  in  her. 

Already  he  was  sure  that  he  knew  how  Kedsty  had 
died.  The  picture  of  the  tragedy  had  pieced  itself 
together  in  his  mind,  bit  by  bit.  While  he  slept,  Mar- 
ette  and  a  man  were  down  in  the  big  room  with  the 
Inspector  of  Police.  The  climax  had  come,  and  Kedsty 
was  struck  a  blow — in  some  unaccountable  way — with 
his  own  gun.  Then,  just  as  Kedsty  was  recovering 
sufficiently  from  the  shock  of  the  blow  to  fight,  Mar- 
ette's  companion  had  killed  him.  Horrified,  dazed 
by  what  had  already  happened,  perhaps  unconscious, 
she  had  been  powerless  to  prevent  the  use  of  a  tress 
of  her  hair  in  the  murderer's  final  work.  Kent,  in 
this  picture,  eliminated  the  boot-laces  and  the  curtain 
cords.  He  knew  that  the  unusual  and  the  least  ex 
pected  happened  frequently  in  crime.  And  Marette's 
long  hair  was  flowing  loose  about  her.  To  use  it  had 
simply  been  the  first  inspiration  of  the  murderer.  And 
Kent  believed,  as  he  waited  for  her  answer  now,  that 
Marette  would  tell  him  this. 

And  as  he  waited,  he  felt  her  fingers  tighten  in  his 
hand. 

'Tell  me,  Gray  Goose — what  happened?" 

"I — don't — know — Jeems ' ' 

His  eyes  went  to  her  suddenly  from  the  fire,  as  if 
he  was  not  quite  sure  he  had  heard  what  she  had  said. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       223 

She  did  not  move  her  head,  but  continued  to  gaze  un- 
seeingly  into  the  flames.  Inside  his  palm  her  ringers 
Avorked  to  his  thumb  and  held  it  tightly  again,  as  they 
had  clung  to  it  when  she  was  frightened  by  the  thun 
der  and  lightning. 

"I  don't  know  what  happened,  Jeems." 

This  time  he  did  not  feel  the  clinging  thrill  of  her 
little  fingers  and  soft  palm.  Deep  within  him  he  ex 
perienced  something  that  was  like  a  sudden  and  un 
expected  blow.  He  was  ready  to  fight  for  her  until 
his  last  breath  was  gone.  He  was  ready  to  believe 
anything  she  told  him — anything  except  this  impossi 
ble  thing  which  she  had  just  spoken.  For  she  did 
know  what  had  happened  in  Kedsty's  room.  She  knew 
— unless 

Suddenly  his  heart  leaped  with  joyous  hope.  "You 
mean — you  were  unconscious  ?"  he  cried  in  a  low  voice 
that  trembled  with  his  eagerness.  "You  fainted — and 
it  happened  then?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No.  I  was  asleep  in  my 
room.  I  didn't  intend  to  sleep,  but — I  did.  Some^ 
thing  a\vakened  me.  I  thought  I  had  been  dreaming. 
But  something  kept  pulling  me,  pulling  me  down 
stairs.  And  when  I  went,  I  found  Kedsty  like  that. 
He  was  dead.  I  was  paralyzed,  standing  there,  when 
you  came." 

She  drew  her  hand  away  from  him,  gently,  but  sig 
nificantly.  "I. know  you  can't  believe  me,  Jeems.  It 
is  impossible  for  you  to  believe  me." 


224       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"And  you  don't  want  me  to  believe  you,  Marette." 

"Yes — I  do.     You  must  believe  me." 

"But  the  tress  of  hair — your  hair — round  Kedsty's 
neck " 

He  stopped.  His  words,  spoken  gently  as  they 
were,  seemed  brutal  to  him.  Yet  he  could  not  see 
that  they  affected  her.  She  did  not  flinch.  He  saw 
no  tremor  of  horror.  Steadily  she  continued  to  look 
into  the  fire.  And  his  brain  grew  confused.  Never 
in  all  his  experience  had  he  seen  such  absolute  and 
unaffected  self-control.  And  somehow,  it  chilled  him. 
It  chilled  him  even  as  he  wanted  to  reach  out  and 
gather  her  close  in  his  arms,  and  pour  his  love  into 
her  ears,  entreating  her  to  tell  him  everything,  to  keep 
nothing  back  from  him  that  might  help  in  the  fight 
he  was  going  to  make. 

And  then  she  said,  "Jeems,  if  we  should  be  caught 
by  the  Police — it  would  probably  be  quite  soon, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"They  won't  catch  us." 

"But  our  greatest  danger  of  being  caught  is  right 
now,  isn't  it?"  she  insisted. 

Kent  took  out  his  watch  and  leaned  over  to  look  at 
it  in  the  fireglow.  "It  is  three  o'clock,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  another  day  and  night,  Gray  Goose,  and  the  Police- 
will  never  find  us." 

For  a  moment  or  two  more  she  was  silent.  Then 
her  hand  reached  out,  and  her  fingers  twined  softly 
round  his  thumb  again.  "Jeems — when  we  are  safe — 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       223 

when  we  are  sure  the  Police  won't  find  us — I  will  tell 
you  all  that  I  know— about  what  happened  in  Kedsty's 
room.  And  I  will  tell  you — about — the  hair.  I  will 
tell  you — everything."  Her  fingers  tightened  almost 
fiercely.  "Everything,"  she  repeated.  "I  will  tell  you 
about  that  in  Kedsty's  room — and  I  will  tell  you  about 
myself — and  after  that — I  am  afraid — you  won't  like 


me." 


"I  love  you/'  he  said,  making  no  movement  to  touch 
her.  "No  matter  what  you  tell  me,  Gray  Goose,  I 
shall  love  you." 

She  gave  a  little  cry,  scarcely  more  than  a  broken 
note  in  her  throat,  and  Kent — had  her  face  been  turned 
toward  him  then — would  have  seen  the  glory  that 
came  into  it,  and  into  her  eyes,  like  a  swift  flash  of 
light — and  passed  as  swiftly  away. 

What  he  did  see,  when  she  turned  her  head,  were 
eyes  caught  suddenly  by  something  at  the  cabin  door. 
He  looked.  Water  was  trickling  in  slowly  over  the 
sill. 

"I  expected  that,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Our  scow 
is  turning  into  a  rain-barrel,  Marette.  Unless  I  bail 
out,  we'll  soon  be  flooded." 

He  reached  for  his  slicker  and  put  it  on.  "It  won't 
take  me  long  to  throw  the  water  overboard,"  he  added. 
"And  while  I'm  doing  that  I  want  you  to  take  off 
your  wet  things  and  tuck  yourself  into  bed.  Will  you, 
Gray  Goose?" 


226       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"I'm  not  tired,  but  if  you  think  it  is  best " 

Her  hand  touched  his  arm. 

"It  is  best,"  he  said,  and  for  a  moment  he  bent 
over  her  until  his  lips  touched  her  hair. 

Then  he  seized  a  pail,  and  went  out  into  the  rain. 


CHAPTER  XX 

TT  was  that  hour  when,  with  clear  skies,  the  gray 
•*•  northern  dawn  would  have  been  breaking  faintly 
over  the  eastern  forests.  Kent  found  the  darkness 
more  fog-like;  about  him  was  a  grayer,  ghostlier  sort 
of  gloom.  But  he  could  not  see  the  water  under  his 
feet.  Nor  could  he  see  the  rail  of  the  scow,  or  the 
river.  From  the  stern,  ten  feet  from  the  cabin  door, 
the  cabin  itself  was  swallowed  up  and  invisible. 

With  the  steady,  swinging  motion  of  the  riverman 
he  began  bailing.  So  regular  became  his  movements 
that  they  ran  in  a  sort  of  rhythmic  accompaniment  to 
his  thoughts.  The  monotonous  splash,  splash,  splash 
of  the  outflung  pails  of  water  assumed,  after  a  few 
minutes,  the  character  of  a  mechanical  thing.  He 
could  smell  the  nearness  of  the  shore.  Even  in  the 
rain  the  tang  of  cedar  and  balsam  came  to  him  faintly. 

But  it  was  the  river  that  impressed  itself  most  upon 
his  senses.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  the  minutes  passed, 
like  a  living  thing.  He  could  hear  it  gurgling  and 
playing  under  the  end  of  the  scow.  And  with  that 
sound  there  was  another  and  more  indescribable  thing, 
the  tremble  of  it,  the  pulse  of  it,  the  thrill  of  it  in  the 
impenetrable  gloom,  the  life  of  it  as  it  swept  on  in 
a  slow  and  mighty  flood  between  its  wilderness  walls. 

227 


228       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

Kent  had  always  said,  "You  can  hear  the  river's  heart 
beat — if  you  know  how  to  listen  for  it."  And  he 
heard  it  now.  He  felt  it.  The  rain  could  not  beat 
it  out,  nor  could  the  splash  of  the  water  he  was  throw 
ing  overboard  drown  it,  and  the  darkness  could  not 
hide  it  from  the  vision  that  was  burning  like  a  liv 
ing  coal  within  him.  Always  it  was  the  river  that  had 
given  him  consolation  in  times  of  loneliness.  For 
him  it  had  grown  into  a  thing  with  a  soul,  a  thing 
that  personified  hope,  courage,  comradeship,  every 
thing  that  was  big  and  great  in  final  achievement. 
And  tonight — for  he  still  thought, of  the  darkness  as 
night — the  soul  of  it  seemed  whispering  to  him  a  sort 
of  paean. 

He  could  not  lose.  That  was  the  thought  that  filled 
him.  Never  had  his  pulse  beat  with  greater  assur 
ance,  never  had  a  more  positive  sense  of  the  inevita 
ble  possessed  him.  It  was  inconceivable,  he  thought, 
even  to  fear  the  possibility  of  being  taken  by  the 
Police.  He  was  more  than  a  man  fighting  for  his 
freedom  alone,  more  than  an  individual  struggling  for 
the  right  to  exist.  A  thing  vastly  more  priceless  than 
either  freedom  or  life,  if  they  were  to  be  accepted 
alone,  waited  for  him  in  the  little  cabin,  shut  in  by 
its  sea  of  darkness.  And  ahead  of  them  lay  their 
world.  He  emphasized  that.  Their  world — the  world 
which,  in  an  illusive  and  unreal  sort  of  way,  had  been 
a  part  of  his  dreams  all  his  life.  In  that  world  they 
would  shut  themselves  in.  No  one  would  ever  find 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       229 

them.  And  the  glory  of  the  sun  and  the  stars  and 
God's  open  country  would  be  with  them  always. 

Marette  was  the  very  heart  of  that  reality  which 
impinged  itself  upon  him  now.  He  did  not  worry 
about  what  it  was  she  would  tell  him  tomorrow,  or 
day  after  tomorrow.  He  believed  that  it  was  then 
— when  she  had  told  him  what  there  was  to  tell,  and 
he  still  reached  out  his  arms  to  her — that  she  would 
come  into  those  arms.  And  he  knew  that  nothing 
that  might  have  happened  in  Kedsty's  room  would 
keep  his  arms  from  reaching  to  her.  Such  was  his 
faith,  potent  as  the  mighty  flood  hidden  in  the  gray- 
ghost  gloom  of  approaching  dawn. 

Yet  he  did  not  expect  to  win  easily.  As  he  worked, 
his  mind  swept  up  and  down  the  Three  Rivers  from 
the  Landing  to  Fort  Simpson,  and  mentally  he  pic 
tured  the  situations  that  might  arise,  and  how  he 
would  triumph  over  them.  He  figured  that  the  men 
at  Barracks  would  not  enter  Kedsty's  bungalow  until 
noon  at  the  earliest.  The  Police  gasoline  launch  would 
probably  set  out  on  a  river  search  soon  after.  By 
mid-afternoon  the  scow  would  have  a  fifty-mile  start. 

Before  darkness  came  again  they  would  be  through 
the  Death  Chute,  where  Follette  and  Ladouceur  swam 
their  mad  race  for  the  love  of  a  girl.  And  not  many 
miles  below  the  Chute  was  a  swampy  country  where 
he  could  hide  the  scow.  Then  they  would  start  over 
land,  west  and  north.  Given  until  another  sunset, 


230       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

and  they  would  be  safe.  This  was  what  he  expected. 
But  if  it  came  to  fighting — he  would  fight. 

The  rain  had  slackened  to  a  thin  drizzle  by  the  time 
he  finished  his  bailing.  The  aroma  of  cedar  and  bal 
sam  came  to  him  more  clearly,  and  he  heard  more  dis 
tinctly  the  murmuring  surge  of  the  river.  He  tapped 
again  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  and  Marette  answered 
him. 

The  fire  had  burned  down  to  a  bed  of  glowing  coals 
when  he  entered.  Again  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
took  off  his  dripping  slicker. 

The  girl  greeted  him  from  the  berth.  "You  look 
like  a  great  bear,  Jeems."  There  was  a  glad,  welcom 
ing  note  in  her  voice. 

He  laughed,  and  drew  the  stool  beside  her,  and  man 
aged  to  sit  on  it,  the  roof  compelling  him  to  bend 
his  head  over  a  little.  "I  feel  like  an  elephant  in  a 
birdcage,"  he  replied.  "Are  you  comfortable,  little 
Gray  Goose?" 

"Yes.    But  you,  Jeems?    You  are  wet!" 

"But  so  happy  that  I  don't  feel  it,  Gray  Goose." 

He  could  make  her  out  only  dimly  there  in  the 
darkness  of  the  berth.  Her  face  was  a  pale  shadow, 
and  she  had  loosened  her  damp  hair  so  that  the  warmth 
and  dry  air  might  reach  it  more  easily.  Kent  won 
dered  if  she  could  hear  the  beating  of  his  heart.  He 
forgot  the  fire,  and  the  darkness  grew  thicker.  He 
could  no  longer  see  the  pale  outline  of  her  face,  and 
he  drew  back  a  little,  possessed  by  the  thought  that  it 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       23* 

was  sacrilegious  to  bend  nearer  to  her,  like  a  thief, 
in  that  gloom.  She  sensed  his  movement,  and  her 
hand  reached  to  him  and  lay  lightly  jwith  its  finger 
tips  touching  his  arm. 

"Jeems,"  she  said  softly.  "I'm  not  sorry — now — 
that  I  came  up  to  Cardigan's  place  that  day — when 
you  thought  you  were  dying.  I  wasn't  wrong.  You 
are  different.  And  I  made  fun  of  you  then,  and 
laughed  at  you,  because  I  knew  that  you  were  not 
going  to  die.  Will  you  forgive  me?" 

He  laughed  happily.  "It's  funny  how  little  things 
work  out,  sometimes,"  he  said.  "Wasn't  a  kingdom 
lost  once  upon  a  time  because  some  fellow  didn't  have 
a  horseshoe?  Anyway,  I  knew  of  a  man  whose  life 
was  saved  because  of  a  broken  pipe-stem.  And  you 
came  to  me,  and  I'm  here  with  you  now,  because " 

"Of  what?"  she  whispered. 

"Because  of  something  that  happened  a  long  time 
ago,"  he  said.  "Something  you  wouldn't  dream  could 
have  anything  to  do  with  you  or  with  me.  Shall  I  tell 
you  about  it,  Marette?" 

Her  fingers  pressed  slightly  upon  his  arm.     "Yes." 

"Of  course,  it's  a  story  of  the  Police,"  he  began. 
"And  I  won't  mention  this  fellow's  name.  You  may 
think  of  him  as  that  red-headed  O'Connor,  if  you 
want  to.  But  I  don't  say  that  it  was  he.  He  was  a 
constable  in  the  Service  and  had  been  away  North  look 
ing  up  some  Indians  who  were  brewing  an  intoxicat 
ing  liquor  from  roots.  That  was  six  years  ago.  And 


232       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

he  caught  something.  Le  Mort  Rouge,  we  sometimes 
call  it — the  Red  Death — or  smallpox.  And  he  was 
alone  when  the  fever  knocked  him  down,  three  hun 
dred  miles  from  anywhere.  His  Indian  ran  away  at 
the  first  sign  of  it,  and  he  had  just  time  to  get  up 
his  tent  before  he  was  flat  on  his  back.  I  won't 
try  to  tell  you  of  the  days  he  went  through.  It  was 
a  living  death.  And  he  would  have  died,  there  is  no 
doubt  of  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a  stranger  who  came 
along.  He  was  a  white  man.  Marette,  it  doesn't  take 
a  great  deal  of  nerve  to  go  up  against  a  man  with  a 
gun,  when  you've  got  a  gun  of  your  own;  and  it 
doesn't  take  such  a  lot  of  nerve  to  go  into  battle 
when  a  thousand  others  are  going  with  you.  But  it 
does  take  nerve  to  face  what  that  stranger  faced. 
And  the  sick  man  was  nothing  to  him.  He  went  into 
that  tent  and  nursed  the  other  back  to  life.  Then 
the  sickness  got  him,  and  for  ten  weeks  those  two 
were  together,  each  fighting  to  save  the  other's  life, 
and  they  won  out.  But  the  glory  cf  it  was  with  the 
stranger.  He  was  going  west.  The  constable  was 
going  south.  They  shook  hands  and  parted." 

Marette's  fingers  tightened  on  Kent's  arm.  And 
Kent  went  on. 

"And  the  constable  never  forgot,  Gray  Goose.  He 
wanted  the  day  to  come  when  he  might  repay.  And 
the  time  came.  It  was  years  later,  and  it  worked  out 
in  a  curious  way.  A  man  was  murdered.  And  the 
constable,  who  had  become  a  sergeant  now,  had  talked 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN        233 

with  the  dead  man  only  a  little  while  before  he  was 
killed.  Returning  for  something  he  had  forgotten,  it 
was  the  sergeant  who  found  him  dead.  Very  shortly 
afterward  a  man  was  arrested.  There  was  blood  on 
his  clothing.  The  evidence  was  convincing,  deadly. 
And  this  man " 

Kent  paused,  and  in  the  darkness  Marette's  hand 
crept  down  his  arm  to  his  hand,  and  her  fingers  closed 
round  it. 

"Was  the  man  you  lied  to  save,"  she  whispered. 

"Yes.  When  the  halfbreed's  bullet  got  me,  I  thought 
it  was  a  good  chance  to  repay  Sandy  McTrigger  for 
what  he  did  for  me  in  that  tent  years  before.  But 
it  wasn't  heroic.  It  wasn't  even  brave.  I  thought  I 
was  going  to  die  and  that  I  was  risking  nothing." 

And  then  there  came  a  soft,  joyous  little  laugh 
from  where  her  head  lay  on  the  pillow.  "And  all 
the  time  you  were  lying  so  splendidly,  Jeems — I  knew," 
she  cried.  "I  knew  that  you  didn't  kill  Barkley,  and 
I  knew  that  you  weren't  going  to  die,  and  I  knew 
what  happened  in  that  tent  ten  years  ago.  And — 
Jeems — Jeems " 

She  raised  herself  from  the  pillow.  Her  breath 
was  coming  a  little  excitedly.  Both  her  hands,  instead 
of  one,  were  gripping  his  hand  now.  "I  knew  that 
you  didn't  kill  John  Barkley,"  she  repeated.  "And 
— Sandy  McTrigger  didn't  kill  him!" 

"But " 

"He  didn't,"  she  interrupted  him,  almost  fiercely. 


234       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

"He  was  innocent,  as  innocent  as  you  were.  Jeems — 
Jeems — I  know  who  killed  Barkley.  Oh,  I  know — 1 
know!" 

A  choking  sob  came  into  her  throat,  and  then  she 
added,  in  a  voice  which  she  was  straining  to  make 
calm,  ' 'Don't  think  that  I  haven't  faith  in  you  be 
cause  I  can't  tell  you  more  now,  Jeems,"  she  said. 
"You  will  understand— quite  soon.  When  we  are 
safe  from  the  Police,  I  shall  tell  you.  I  shall  keep 
nothing  from  you  then.  I  shall  tell  you  about  Barkley, 
and  Kedsty — everything.  But  I  can't  now.  It  won't 
be  long.  When  you  tell  me  we  are  safe,  I  shall  be 
lieve  you.  And  then "  She  withdrew  her  hands 

from  his  and  dropped  back  on  her  pillow. 

"And  then — what?"  he  asked,  leaning  far  over. 

"You  may  not  like  me,  Jeems." 

"I  love  you,"  he  whispered.  "Nothing  in  the  world 
can  stop  my  loving  you." 

"Even  if  I  tell  you— soon— that  I  killed  Barkley?" 

"No.    You  would  be  lying." 

"Or— if  I  told  you— that  I— killed— Kedsty  ?" 

"No  matter  what  you  said,  or  what  proof  there 
might  be  back  there,  I  would  not  believe  you." 

She  was  silent.    And  then,  "Jeems " 

"Yes,  Niska,  Little  Goddess ?" 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  something — now !" 

He  waited. 

"It  is  going  to — shock  you — Jeems." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       235 

He  felt  her  arms  reaching  up.  Her  two  hands 
touched  his  shoulders. 

"Are  you  listening?" 

"Yes,  I  am  listening." 

"Because  I'm  not  going  to  say  it  very  loud."  And 
then 'she  whispered,  "Jeems — I  love 


CHAPTER  XXI 

I"  N  the  slowly  breaking  gloom  of  the  cabin,  with 
Marette's  arms  round  his  neck,  her  soft  lips  given 
him  to  kiss,  Kent  for  many  minutes  was  conscious 
of  nothing  but  the  thrill  of  his  one  great  hope  on 
earth  come  true.  What  he  had  prayed  for  was  no 
longer  a  prayer,  and  what  he  had  dreamed  of  was 
no  longer  a  dream;  yet  for  a  space  the  reality  of  it 
seemed  unreal.  What  he  said  in  those  first  moments 
of  his  exaltation  he  would  probably  never  remember. 

His  own  physical  existence  seemed  a  thing  trivial 
and  almost  lost,  a  thing  submerged  and  swallowed  up 
by  the  warm  beat  and  throb  of  that  other  life,  a  thou 
sand  times  more  precious  than  his  own,  which  he  held 
in  his  arms.  Yet  with  the  mad  thrill  that  possessed 
him,  in  the  embrace  of  his  arms,  there  was  an  infinite 
tenderness,  a  gentleness,  that  drew  from  Marette's 
lips  a  low,  glad  whispering  of  his  name.  She  drew 
his  head  down  and  kissed  him,  and  Kent  fell  upon 
his  knees  at  her  side  and  crushed  his  face  close  down 
to  her — while  outside  the  patter  of  rain  on  the  roof 
had  ceased,  and  the  fog-like  darkness  was  breaking 
with  gray  dawn. 

In  that  dawn  of  the  new  day  Kent  came  at  last 
out  of  the  cabin  and  looked  upon  a  splendid  world. 

236 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       237 

In  his  breast  was  the  glory  of  a  thing  new-born,  and 
the  world,  like  himself,  was  changed.  Storm  had 
passed.  The  gray  river  lay  under  his  eyes.  Shore 
ward  he  made  out  the  dark  outlines  of  the  deep  spruce 
and  cedar  and  balsam  forests.  About  him  there  was  a 
great  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  murmur  of  the 
river  and  the  ripple  of  water  under  the  scow.  Wind 
had  gone  with  the  black  rainclouds,  and  Kent,  as  he 
looked  about  him,  saw  the  swift  dissolution  of  the  last 
shadows  of  night,  and  the  breaking  in  the  East  of  a 
new  paradise.  In  the  East,  as  the  minutes  passed,  there 
came  a  soft  and  luminous  gray,  and  after  that,  swiftly, 
with  the  miracle  of  far  Northern  dawn,  a  vast,  low- 
burning  fire  seemed  to  start  far  beyond  the  forests, 
tinting  the  sky  with  a  delicate  pink  that  crept  higher 
and  higher  as  Kent  watched  it.  The  river,  all  at  once, 
came  out  of  its  last  drifting  haze  of  fog  and  night. 
The  scow  was  about  in  the  middle  of  the  channel.  Two 
hundred  yards  on  either  side  were  thick  green  walls 
of  forest  glistening  fresh  and  cool  with  the  wet  of 
storm  and  breathing  forth  the  perfume  which  Kent 
was  drawing  deep  into  his  lungs. 

In  the  cabin  he  heard  sound.  Marette  was  up,  and 
he  was  eager  to  have  her  come  out  and  stand  with 
him  in  this  glory  of  their  first  day.  He  watched  the 
smoke  of  the  fire  he  had  built,  hardwood  smoke  that 
drifted  up  white  and  clean  into  the  rain-washed  air. 

The  smell  of  it,  like  the  smell  of  balsam  and  cedar, 
was  to  Kent  the  aroma  of  life.  And  then  he  began 


238       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

to  clean  out  what  was  left  of  the  water  in  the  bottom 
of  the  scow,  and  as  he  worked  he  whistled.  He  wanted 
Marette  to  hear  that  whistle.  He  wanted  her  to  know 
that  day  had  brought  with  it  no  doubt  for  him.  A 
great  and  glorious  world  was  about  them  and  ahead 
of  them.  And  they  were  safe. 

As  he  worked,  his  mind  became  more  than  ever 
set  upon  the  resolution  to  take  no  chances.  He  paused 
in  his  whistling  for  a  moment  to  laugh  softly  and  ex 
ultantly  as  he  thought  of  the  years  of  experience  which 
were  his  surest  safeguard  now.  He  had  become  al 
most  uncannily  expert  in  all  the  finesse  and  trickery 
of  his  craft  of  hunting  human  game,  and  he  knew 
what  the  man-hunters  would  do  and  what  they  would 
not  do.  He  had  them  checkmated  at  the  start.  And, 
besides — with  Kedsty,  O'Connor,  and  himself  gone — 
the  Landing  was  short-handed  just  at  present.  There 
was  an  enormous  satisfaction  in  that.  But  even  with 
a  score  of  men  behind  him  Kent  knew  that  he  would 
beat  them.  His  hazard,  if  there  was  peril  at  all,  lay 
in  this  first  day.  Only  the  Police  gasoline  launch 
could  possibly  overtake  them.  And  with  the  start 
they  had,  he  was  sure  they  would  pass  the  Death 
Chute,  conceal  the  scow,  and  take  to  the  untracked 
forests  north  and  west  before  the  launch  could  menace 
them.  After  that  he  would  keep  always  west  and 
north,  deeper  and  deeper  into  that  wild  and  untrav- 
eled  country  which  would  be  the  last  place  in  whi< 
the  Law  would  seek  for  them.  He  straightened  himselJ 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       239 

and  looked  at  the  smoke  again,  drifting  like  gray-white 
lace  between  him  and  the  blue  of  the  sky,  and  in  that 
moment  the  sun  capped  the  tall  green  tops  of  the 
highest  cedars,  and  day  broke  gloriously  over  the 
earth. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer  Kent  mopped  at 
the  floor  of  the  scow,  and  then — with  a  suddenness 
that  drew  him  up  as  if  a  whip-lash  had  snapped  be 
hind  him — he  caught  another  aroma  in  the  clean, 
forest-scented  air.  It  was  bacon  and  coffee !  He  had 
believed  that  Marette  was  taking  her  time  in  putting 
on  dry  footwear  and  making  some  sort  of  morning 
toilet.  Instead  of  that,  she  was  getting  breakfast.  It 
was  not  an  extraordinary  thing  to  do.  To  fry  bacon 
and  make  coffee  was  not,  in  any  sense,  a  remarkable 
achievement.  But  at  the  present  moment  it  was  the 
crowning  touch  to  Kent's  paradise.  She  was  getting 
his  breakfast!  And — coffee  and  bacon —  To  Kent 
those  two  things  had  always  stood  for  home.  They 
were  intimate  and  companionable.  Where  there  were 
coffee  and  bacon,  he  had  known  children  who  laughed, 
women  who  sang,  and  men  with  happy,  welcoming 
faces.  They  were  home-builders. 

"Whenever  you  smell  coffee  and  bacon  at  a  cabin," 
O'Connor  had  always  said,  "they'll  ask  you  in  to  break 
fast  if  you  knock  at  the  door." 

But  Kent  was  not  recalling  his  old  trail  mate's 
words.  In  the  present  moment  all  other  thoughts  were 


240       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

lost  in  the  discovery  that  Marette  was  getting  break 
fast — for  him. 

He  went  to  the  door  and  listened.  Then  he  opened 
it  and  looked  in.  Marette  was  on  her  knees  before 
the  open  door  of  the  stove,  toasting  bread  on  two 
forks.  Her  face  was  flushed  pink.  She  had  not  taken 
time  to  brush  her  hair,  but  had  woven  it  carelessly 
into  a  thick  braid  that  fell  down  her  back.  She  gave 
a  little  exclamation  of  mock  disappointment  when  she 
saw  Kent. 

"Why  didn't  you  wait?"  she  remonstrated.  "I 
wanted  to  surprise  you." 

"You  have,"  he  said.  "And  I  couldn't  wait.  I 
had  to  come  in  and  help." 

He  was  inside  the  door  and  on  his  knees  beside  her. 
As  he  reached  for  the  two  forks,  his  lips  pressed 
against  her  hair.  The  pink  deepened  in  Marette's 
face,  and  the  soft  little  note  that  was  like  laughter 
came  into  her  throat.  Her  hand  caressed  his  cheek 
as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  Kent  laughed  back.  And 
after  that,  as  she  arranged  things  on  the  shelf  table, 
her  hand  now  and  then  touched  his  shoulder,  or  his 
hair,  and  two  or  three  times  he  heard  that  wonderful 
little  throat-note  that  sent  through  him  a  wild  pulse 
of  happiness.  And  then,  he  sitting  in  the  low  chair 
and  she  on  the  stool,  they  drew  close  together  before 
the  board  that  answered  as  a  table,  and  ate  their  break 
fast.  Marette  poured  his  coffee  and  stirred  sugar  anc 
condensed  milk  in  it,  and  so  happy  was  Kent  that  he 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       241 

did  not  tell  her  he  used  neither  milk  nor  sugar  in  his 
coffee.  The  morning  sun  burst  through  the  little  win 
dow,  and  through  the  open  door  Kent  pointed  to  the 
glory  of  it  on  the  river  and  in  the  shimmering  green 
of  the  forests  slipping  away  behind.  When  they  had 
finished,  Marette  went  outside  with  him. 

For  a  space  she  stood  silent  and  without  movement, 
looking  upon  the  marvelous  world  that  encompassed 
them.  It  seemed  to  Kent  that  for  a  few  moments  she 
did  not  breathe.  With  her  head  thrown  back  and  her 
white  throat  bare  to  the  soft,  balsam-laden  air  she 
faced  the  forests.  Her  eyes  became  suddenly  filled 
with  the  luminous  glow  of  stars.  Her  face  reflected 
the  radiance  of  the  rising  sun,  and  Kent,  looking  at 
her,  knew  that  he  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful  as 
in  these  wonderful  moments.  He  held  his  own  breath, 
for  he  also  knew  that  Niska,  his  goddess,  was  look 
ing  upon  her  own  world  again  after  a  long  time  away. 

Her  world — and  his.  Different  from  all  the  other 
worlds  God  had  ever  made;  different,  even,  from  the 
world  only  a  few  miles  behind  them  at  the  Landing. 
For  here  was  no  sound  or  whisper  of  destroying 
human  life.  They  were  in  the  embrace  of  the  Great 
North,  and  it  was  drawing  them  closer,  and  with 
each  minute  nearer  to  the  mighty,  pulsing  heart  of  it. 

The  forests  hung  heavy  and  green  and  glistening 
with  the  wet  of  storm ;  out  of  them  came  the  tremulous 
breath  of  life  and  the  glory  of  living;  they  hugged  the 
shores  like  watchful  hosts  guarding  the  river  from 


242        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

civilization — and  suddenly  the  girl  held  out  her  arms, 
and  Kent  heard  the  low,  thrilling  cry  that  came  to 
her  lips. 

She  had  forgotten  him.  She  had  forgotten  every 
thing  but  the  river,  the  forests,  and  the  untrod  'worlds 
beyond  them,  and  he  was  glad.  For  this  world  that 
she  was  welcoming,  that  her  soul  was  crying  out  to, 
was  his  world,  for  ever  and  ever.  It  held  his  dreams, 
his  hopes,  all  the  desires  that  he  had  in  life.  And 
when  at  last  Marette  turned  toward  him  slowly,  his 
arms  were  reaching  out  to  her,  and  in  his  face  she 
saw  that  same  glory  which  filled  her  own. 

"I'm  glad— glad,"  she  cried  softly.  "Oh,  Jeems— 
I'm  glad!" 

She  came  into  his  arms  without  hesitation;  her 
hands  stroked  his  face;  and  then  she  stood  with  her 
head  against  his  shoulder,  looking  ahead,  breathing 
deeply  now  of  the  sweet,  clear  air  filled  with  the  elixir 
of  the  hovering  forests.  She  did  not  speak,  or  move, 
and  Kent  remained  quiet.  The  scow  drifted  around 
a  bend.  Shoreward  a  great  moose  splashed  up  out 
of  the  water,  and  they  could  hear  him  afterward, 
crashing  through  the  forest.  Her  body  tensed,  but 
she  did  not  speak.  After  a  little  he  heard  her  whisper, 

"It  has  been  a  long  time,  Jeems.  I  have  been  away 
four  years." 

"And  now  we  are  going  home,  little  Gray  Goose. 
You  will  not  be  lonely?" 

"No.     I  was  lonely  down  there.     There  were  so 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       243 

many  people,  and  so  many  things,  that  I  was  home 
sick  for  the  woods  and  mountains.  I  believe  I  would 
have  died  soon.  There  were  only  two  things  I  loved, 
Jeems " 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"Pretty  dresses — and  shoes." 

His  arms  closed  about  her  a  little  more  tightly.  "I 
— I  understand/'  he  laughed  softly.  "That  is  why 
you  came,  that  first  time,  with  pretty  high-heeled 
pumps." 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  she  turned  her  face  to  him. 
On  her  upturned  mouth  he  kissed  her. 

"More  than  any  other  man  ever  loved  a  woman  I 
love  you,  Niska,  little  goddess,"  he  cried. 

The  minutes  and  the  hours  of  that  day  stood  out 
ever  afterward  in  Kent's  life  as  unforgettable  mem 
ories.  There  were  times  when  they  seemed  illusory 
and  unreal,  as  though  he  lived  and  breathed  in  an  in 
substantial  world  made  up  of  gossamer  things  which 
must  be  the  fabric  of  dream.  These  were  moments 
when  the  black  shadow  of  the  tragedy  from  which 
they  were  fleeing  pressed  upon  him,  when  the  thought 
came  to  him  that  they  were  criminals  racing  with  the 
law;  that  they  were  not  on  enchanted  ground,  but  in 
deadly  peril;  that  it  was  all  a  fools'  paradise  from 
which  some  terrible  shock  would  shortly  awaken  him. 
But  these  periods  of  apprehension  were,  in  themselves, 
mere  shadows  thrown  for  a  moment  upon  his  happi 
ness.  Again  and  again  the  subconscious  force  within 


244       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

him  pounded  home  to  his  physical  brain  the  great  truth, 
that  it  was  all  extraordinarily  real. 

It  was  Marette  who  made  him  doubt  himself  at 
times.  He  could  not,  quite  yet,  comprehend  the  ful 
ness  of  that  love  which  she  had  given  him.  More 
than  ever,  in  the  glory  of  this  love  that  had  come  to 
them  she  was  like  a  child  to  him.  It  seemed  to  him 
in  the  first  hours  of  the  morning  that  she  had  for 
gotten  yesterday,  and  the  day  before,  and  ill  the  days 
before  that.  She  was  going  home.  She  whispered 
that  to  him  so  often  that  it  became  a  little  song  in 
his  brain.  Yet  she  told  him  nothing  of  that  home, 
and  he  waited,  knowing  that  the  fulfilment  of  her 
promise  was  not  far  away.  And  there  was  no  embar 
rassment  in  the  manner  of  her  surrender  when  he  held 
her  in  his  arms,  and  she  held  her  face  up,  so  that  he 
could  kiss  her  mouth  and  look  into  her  glowing,  lovely 
eyes.  What  he  saw  was  the  flush  of  a  great  happiness, 
the  almost  childish  confession  of  it  along  with  the 
woman's  joy  of  possession.  And  he  thought  of  Kedsty, 
and  of  the  Law  that  was  rousing  itself  into  life  back 
at  Athabasca  Landing. 

And  then  she  ran  her  fingers  through  his  own  and 
told  him  to  wait,  and  ran  into  the  cabin  and  came 
out  a  moment  later  with  her  brush;  and  after  that 
she  seated  herself  at  the  fulcrum  of  the  big  sweep  and 
began  to  brush  out  her  hair  in  the  sun. 

"I'm  glad  you  love  it,  Jeems,"  she  said. 

She  unbound   the  thick   braid  and  let  the   silken 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       245 

strands  of  it  run  caressingly  between  her  fingers.  She 
smoothed  it  out,  brushed  it  until  it  was  more  beauti 
ful  than  he  had  ever  seen  it,  in  that  glow  of  the  sun. 
She  held  it  up  so  that  it  rippled  out  in  shimmering 
cascades  about  her — and  then,  suddenly,  Kent  saw  the 
short  tress  from  which  had  been  clipped  the  rope  of 
hair  that  he  had  taken  from  Kedsty's  neck.  And 
as  his  lips  tightened,  crushing  fiercely  the  exclamation 
of  his  horror,  there  came  a  trembling  happiness  from 
Marette's  lips,  scarcely  more  than  the  whisper  of  a 
song,  the  low,  thrilling  melody  of  Le  Chaudiere. 

Her  arms  reached  up,  and  she  drew  his  head  down 
to  her,  so  that  for  a  time  his  visions  were  blinded 
in  that  sweet  smother  of  her  hair. 

The  intimacy  of  that  day  was  in  itself  like  a  dream. 
Hour  after  hour  they  drifted  deeper  into  the  great 
North.  The  sun  shone.  The  forest-walled  shores  of 
the  river  grew  mightier  in  their  stillness  and 
their  grandeur,  and  the  vast  silence  of  unpeopled  places 
brooded  over  the  world.  To  Kent  it  was  as  if  they 
were  drifting  through  Paradise.  Occasionally  he 
found  it  necessary  to  work  the  big  sweep,  for  still 
water  was  gradually  giving  way  to  a  swifter  current. 

Beyond  that  there  was  no  labor  for  him  to  perform. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  with  each  of  these  wonderful 
hours  danger  was  being  left  farther  and  still  farther 
behind  them.  Watching  the  shores,  looking  ahead, 
listening  for  sound  that  might  come  from  behind — at 
times  possessed  of  the  exquisite  thrills  of  children  in 


246       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

their  happiness — Kent  and  Marette  found  the  gulf  of 
strangeness  passing  swiftly  away  from  between  them. 

They  did  not  speak  of  Kedsty,  or  the  tragedy,  or 
again  of  the  death  of  John  Barkley.  But  Kent  told 
of  his  days  in  the  North,  of  his  aloneness,  of  the  wild, 
weird  love  in  his  soul  for  the  deepest  wildernesses. 
And  from  that  he  went  away  back  into  dim  and  dis 
tant  yesterdays,  alive  with  mellowed  memories  of  boy 
hood  days  spent  on  a  farm.  To  all  these  things  Ma 
rette  listened  with  glowing  eyes,  with  low  laughter, 
or  with  breath  that  rose  or  fell  with  his  own  emotions. 

She  told  of  her  own  days  down  at  school  and  of 
their  appalling  loneliness;  of  childhood  spent  in  the 
forests;  of  the  desire  to  live  there  always.  But  she  did 
not  speak  intimately  of  herself  or  her  life  in  its  more 
vital  aspects;  she  said  nothing  of  the  home  in  the 
Valley  of  Silent  Men,  nothing  of  father  or  mother, 
sisters  or  brothers.  There  was  no  embarrassment  in 
her  omissions.  And  Kent  did  not  question.  He  knew 
that  those  were  among  the  things  she  would  tell  him 
when  that  promised  hour  came,  the  hour  when  he 
would  tell  her  they  were  safe. 

There  began  to  possess  him  now  a  growing  eager 
ness  for  this  hour,  when  the}'  should  leave  the  river 
and  take  to  the  forests.  He  explained  to  Marette 
why  they  could  not  float  on  indefinitely.  The  river 
was  the  one  great  artery  through  which  ran  the  blood 
of  all  traffic  to  the  far  North.  It  was  patrolled.  Sooner 
or  later  they  would  be  discovered.  In  the  forests, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       247 

with  a  thousand  untrod  trails  to  choose,  they  would 
be  safe.  He  had  only  one  reason  for  keeping  to  the 
river  until  they  passed  through  the  Death  Chute.  It 
would  carry  them  beyond  a  great  swampy  region  to 
the  westward  through  which  it  would  be  impossible 
for  them  to  make  their  way  at  this  season  of  the  year. 
Otherwise  he  would  have  gone  ashore  now.  He  loved 
the  river,  had  faith  in  it,  but  he  knew  that  not  until 
the  deep  forests  swallowed  them,  as  a  vast  ocean  swal 
lows  a  ship,  would  they  be  beyond  the  peril  that  threat 
ened  them  from  the  Landing. 

Three  or  four  times  between  sunrise  and  noon  they 
saw  life  ashore  and  on  the  stream;  once  a  scow  tied 
to  a  tree,  then  an  Indian  camp,  and  twice  trappers' 
shacks  built  in  the  edge  of  little  clearings.  With  the 
beginning  of  afternoon  Kent  felt  growing  within  him 
something  that  was  not  altogether  eagerness.  It  was, 
at  times,  a  disturbing  emotion,  a  foreshadowing  of 
evil,  a  warning  for  him  to  be  on  his  guard.  He  used 
the  sweep  more,  to  help  their  progress  in  the  cur 
rent,  and  he  began  to  measure  time  and  distance  with 
painstaking  care.  He  recognized  many  landmarks. 

By  four  o'clock,  or  five  at  the  latest,  they  would 
strike  the  head  of  the  Chute.  Ten  minutes  of  its 
thrilling  passage  and  he  would  work  the  scow  into 
the  concealment  he  had  in  mind  ashore,  and  no  longer 
would  he  fear  the  arm  of  the  law  that  reached  out 
from  the  Landing.  As  he  planned,  he  listened.  From 
noon  on  he  never  ceased  to  listen  for  that  distant  putt. 


248       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

'putt,  putt,  that  would  give  them  a  mile's  warning  of 
the  approach  of  the  patrol  launch. 

He  did  not  keep  his  plans  to  himself.  Marette 
sensed  his  growing  uneasiness,  and  he  made  her  a 
partner  of  his  thoughts. 

"If  we  hear  the  patrol  before  we  reach  the  Chute, 
we'll  still  have  time  to  run  ashore/'  he  assured  her. 
"And  they  won't  catch  us.  We'll  be  harder  to  find 
than  two  needles  in  a  haystack.  But  it's  best  to  be 
prepared." 

So  he  brought  out  his  pack  and  Marette's  smaller 
bundle,  and  laid  his  rifle  and  pistol  holster  across 
them. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  the  character  of  the  river 
began  to  change,  and  Kent  smiled  happily.  They  were 
entering  upon  swifter  waters.  There  were  places 
where  the  channel  narrowed,  and  they  sped  through 
rapids.  Only  where  unbroken  straight  waters  stretched 
out  ahead  of  them  did  Kent  give  his  arms  a  rest  at 
the  sweep.  And  through  most  of  the  straight  water 
he  added  to  the  speed  of  the  scow.  Marette  helped 
him.  In  him  the  exquisite  thrill  of  watching  her 
slender,  glorious  body  as  it  worked  with  his  own  never 
grew  old.  She  laughed  at  him  over  the  big  oar  be 
tween  them.  The  wind  and  sun  played  riot  in  her 
hair.  Her  parted  lips  were  rose-red,  her  cheeks  flushed, 
her  eyes  like  sun-warmed  rock  violets.  More  than 
once,  in  the  thrill  of  that  afternoon  flight,  as  he  looked 
at  the  marvelous  beauty  of  her,  he  asked  himself  if 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       249 

it  could  be  anything  but  a  dream.  And  more  than 
once  he  laughed  joyously,  and  paused  in  his  swinging 
of  the  sweep,  and  proved  that  it  was  real  and  true. 
And  Kent  thanked  God,  and  worked  harder. 

Once,  a  long  time  ago,  Marette  told  him,  she  had 
been  through  the  Chute.  It  had  horrified  her  then. 
She  remembered  it  as  a  sort  of  death  monster,  roaring 
for  its  victims.  As  they  drew  nearer  to  it,  Kent  told 
her  more  about  it.  Only  now  and  then  was  a  life 
lost  there  now,  he  said.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Chute 
there  was  a  great,  knife-like  rock,  like  a  dragon's 
tooth,  that  cut  the  Chute  into  two  roaring  channels. 
If  a  scow  kept  to  the  left-hand  channel  it  was  safe. 
There  would  be  a  mighty  roaring  and  thundering  as 
it  swept  on  its  passage,  but  that  roaring  of  the  Chute, 
he  told  her,  was  like  the  barking  of  a  harmless  dog. 

Only  when  a  scow  became  unmanageable,  or  hit  the 
Dragon's  Tooth,  or  made  the  right-hand  channel  in 
stead  of  the  left,  was  there  tragedy.  There  was  that 
delightful  little  note  of  laughter  in  Marette's  throat 
when  Kent  told  her  that. 

"You  mean,  Jeems,  that  if  one  of  three  possible 
things  doesn't  happen,  we'll  get  through  safely?" 

"None  of  them  is  possible — with  us,"  he  corrected 
himself  quickly.  "We've  a  tight  little  scow,  we're  not' 
going  to  hit  the  rock,  and  we'll  make  the  left-hand 
channel  so  smoothly  you  won't  know  when  it  hap 
pens."  He  smiled  at  her  with  splendid  confidence. 
"I've  been  through  it  a  hundred  times,"  he  said. 


<>5o       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

He  listened.  Then,  suddenly,  he  drew  out  his  watch. 
It  was  a  quarter  of  four.  Marette's  ears  caught  what 
he  heard.  In  the  air  was  a  low,  trembling  murmur. 
It  was  growing  slowly  but  steadily.  He  nodded  when 
she  looked  at  him,  the  question  in  her  eyes. 

"The  rapids  at  the  head  of  the  Chute !"  he  cried, 
his  voice  vibrant  with  joy.  "We've  beat  them  out. 
We're  safe!" 

They  swung  around  a  bend,  and  the  white  spume  of 
the  rapids  lay  half  a  mile  ahead  of  them.  The  current 
began  to  race  with  them  now.  Kent  put  his  whole 
weight  on  the  sweep  to  keep  the  scow  in  mid-channel. 

"We're  safe,"  he  repeated.  "Do  you  understand, 
Marette?  We're  safe!" 

He  was  speaking  the  words  for  which  she  had 
waited,  was  telling  her  that  at  last  the  hour  had  come 
when  she  could  keep  her  promise  to  him.  The  words, 
as  he  gave  them  voice,  thrilled  him.  He  felt  like 
shouting  them.  And  then  all  at  once  he  saw  the 
change  that  had  come  into  her  face.  Her  wide,  star 
tled  eyes  were  not  looking  at  him,  but  beyond.  She 
was  looking  back  in  the  direction  from  which  they 
had  come,  and  even  as  he  stared  her  face  grew  white. 

"Listen!" 

She  was  tense,  rigid.  He  turned  his  head.  And  in 
that  moment  it  came  to  him  above  the  growing  mur 
mur  of  the  river — the  putt,  putt,  putt  of  the  Police 
patrol  boat  from  Athabasca  Landing! 

A  deep  breath  came  from  between  his  lips.     When 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       251 

Marette  took  her  eyes  from  the  river  and  looked  at 
him,  his  face  was  like  carven  rock.  He  was  staring 
dead  ahead. 

"We  can't  make  the  Chute,"  he  said,  his  voice  sound 
ing  hard  and  unreal  to  her.  "If  we  do,  they'll  be  up 
with  us  before  we  can  land  at  the  other  end.  We 
must  let  this  current  drive  us  ashore — now." 

As  he  made  his  decision,  he  put  the  strength  of  his 
body  into  action.  He  knew  there  was  not  the  hun 
dredth  part  of  a  second  to  lose.  The  outreaching 
suction  of  the  rapids  was  already  gripping  the  scow, 
and  with  mighty  strokes  he  fought  to  work  the 
head  of  his  craft  toward  the  westward  shore.  With 
swift  understanding  Marette  saw  the  priceless  value 
of  a  few  seconds  of  time.  If  they  were  caught  in  the 
stronger  swirl  of  the  rapids  before  the  shore  was 
reached,  they  would  be  forced  to  run  the  Chute,  and 
in  that  event  the  launch  would  be  upon  them  before 
they  could  make  a  landing  farther  on.  She  sprang 
to  Kent's  side  and  added  her  own  strength  in  the 
working  of  the  sweep.  Foot  by  foot  and  yard  by 
yard  the  scow  made  precious  westing,  and  Kent's  face 
lighted  up  with  triumph  as  he  nodded  ahead  to  a 
timbered  point  that  thrust  itself  out  like  a  stubby 
thumb  into  the  river.  Beyond  that  point  the  rapids 
were  frothing  white,  and  they  could  see  the  first  black 
walls  of  rock  that  marked  the  beginning  of  the  Chute. 

"We'll  make  it,"  he  smiled  confidently.  "We'll  hit 
that  timbered  point  close  inshore.  I  don't  see  where 


252       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  launch  can  make  a  landing  anywhere  within  a  mile 
of  the  Chute.  And  once  ashore  we'll  make  trail  about 
five  times  as  fast  they  can  follow  it."  Marette's  face 
was  no  longer  pale,  but  flushed  with  excitement.  He 
caught  the  white  gleam  of  teeth  between  her  parted 
lips.  Her  eyes  shone  gloriously,  and  he  laughed. 

"You  beautiful  little  fighter,"  he  cried  exultantly. 
"You— you " 

His  words  were  cut  short  by  a  snap  that  was  like 
the  report  of  a  pistol  close  to  his  ears.  He  pitched 
forward  and  crashed  to  the  bottom  of  the  scow,  Ma- 
rette's  slim  body  clutched  in  his  arms  as  he  fell.  In 
a  flash  they  were  up,  and  mutely  they  stared  w^here 
the  sweep  had  been.  The  blade  of  it  was  gone.  Kent 
was  conscious  of  hearing  a  little  cry  from  the  girl  at 
his  side,  and  then  her  fingers  were  gripping  tightly 
again  about  his  thumb.  No  longer  possessed  of  the 
power  of  guidance,  the  scow  swung  sideways.  It 
swept  past  the  wooded  point.  The  white  maelstrom 
of  the  lower  rapids  seized  upon  it.  And  Kent,  looking 
ahead  to  the  black  maw  of  the  death-trap  that  was 
waiting  for  them,  drew  Marette  close  in  his  arms  and 
held  her  tight. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Tj^OR  a  brief  space  after  the  breaking  of  the  scow- 
•*•  sweep  Kent  did  not  move.  He  felt  Marette's 
arms  closing  tighter  and  tighter  around  his  neck.  He 
caught  a  flash  of  her  upturned  face,  the  flush  of  a  few 
moments  before  replaced  by  a  deathly  pallor,  and  he 
knew  that  without  explanation  on  his  part  she  under 
stood  the  almost  hopeless  situation  they  were  in.  He 
was  glad  of  that.  It  gave  him  a  sense  of  relief  to 
know  that  she  would  not  go  into  a  panic,  no  matter 
what  happened.  He  bowed  his  face  to  hers,  so  that 
he  felt  the  velvety  smoothness  of  her  cheek.  She 
turned  her  mouth  to  him,  and  they  kissed.  His  em 
brace  was  crushing  for  a  moment,  fierce  with  his  love 
for  her,  desperate  with  his  determination  to  keep  her 
from  harm. 

His  brain  was  working  swiftly.  There  was  possibly 
one  chance  in  ten  that  the  scow — rudderless  and  with 
out  human  guidance — would  sweep  safely  between  the 
black  walls  and  jagged  teeth  of  the  Chute.  Even  if 
the  scow  made  this  passage,  they  would  be  in  the 
power  of  the  Police,  unless  some  splendid  whimsicality 
of  Fate  sent  it  ashore  before  the  launch  came  through. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  it  was  carried  far  enough 
through  the  lower  rapids,  they  might  swim.  And — » 

253 


254       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

there  was  the  rifle  laying  across  the  pack.  That,  after 
all,  was  his  greatest  hope — if  the  scow  made  the  pass 
age  of  the  Chute.  The  bulwarks  of  the  scow  would 
give  them  greater  protection  than  the  thinner  walls 
of  the  launch  would  give  to  their  pursuers.  In  his 
heart  there  raged  suddenly  a  hatred  for  that  Law 
of  which  he  had  been  a  part.  It  was  running  them  to 
destruction,  and  he  would  fight.  There  would  not  be 
more  than  three  men  in  the  launch,  and  he  would  kill 
them,  if  killing  became  a  necessity. 

They  were  speeding  like  an  unbridled  race-horse 
through  the  boiling  rapids  now.  The  clumsy  craft 
under  their  feet  twisted  and  turned.  The  dripping 
tops  of  great  rocks  shot  past  a  little  out  of  their 
channel.  And  Marette,  with  one  arm  still  about  his 
neck,  was  facing  the  peril  ahead  with  him.  They 
could  see  the  Dragon's  Tooth,  black  and  grim,  waiting 
squarely  in  their  path.  In  another  hundred  and  twenty 
seconds  they  would  be  upon  it — or  past  it.  There  was 
no  time  for  Kent  to  explain.  He  sprang  to  his  pack, 
whipped  a  knife  from  his  pocket,  and  cut  the  stout 
babiche  rope  that  reenforced  its  straps.  In  another 
instant  he  was  back  at  Marette's  side,  fastening  the 
babiche  about  her  waist  The  other  end  he  gave 
to  her,  and  she  tied  it  about  his  wrist.  She  smiled  as 
she  finished  the  knot.  It  was  a  strange,  tense  little 
smile,  but  it  told  him  that  she  was  not  afraid,  that 
she  had  great  faith  in  him,  and  knew  what  the  babiche 
meant. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       255 

"I  can  swim,  Jeems,"  she  cried.  "If  we  strike  the 
rock." 

She  did  not  finish  because  of  the  sudden  cry  that 
came  to  his  lips.  He  had  almost  forgotten  the  most 
vital  of  all  things.  There  was  not  time  to  unlace  his 
boots.  With  his  knife  he  cut  the  laces  in  a  single 
downward  thrust.  Swiftly  he  freed  his  own  feet,  and 
Marette's.  Even  in  this  hour  of  their  peril  it  thrilled 
him  to  see  how  quickly  Marette  responded  to  the 
thoughts  that  moved  him.  She  tore  at  her  outer  gar 
ments  and  slipped  them  off  as  he  wriggled  out  of  his 
heavy  shirt.  A  slim,  white-underskirted  little  thing, 
her  glorious  hair  flying  in  the  wind  that  came  through 
the  Chute,  her  throat  and  arms  bare,  her  eyes  shining 
at  Kent,  she  came  again  close  within  his  arms,  and 
her  lips  framed  softly  his  name.  And  a  moment  later 
she  turned  her  face  up,  and  cried  quickly, 

"Kiss  me,  Jeems — kiss  me " 

Her  warm  lips  clung  to  his,  and  her  bare  arms  en 
circled  his  neck  with  the  choking  grip  of  a  child's.  He 
looked  ahead  and  braced  himself  on  his  feet,  and  after 
that  he  buried  one  of  his  hands  in  the  soft  mass  of 
her  hair  and  pressed  her  face  against  his  naked  breast. 

Ten  seconds  later  the  crash  came.  Squarely  amid 
ships  the  scow  struck  the  Dragon's  Tooth.  Kent  was 
prepared  for  the  shock,  but  his  attempt  to  hold  his 
feet,  with  Marette  in  his  arms,  was  futile.  The  bul 
wark  saved  them  from  crashing  against  the  slippery 
face  of  the  rock  itself.  Amid  the  roar  of  water  that 


256       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

filled  his  ears  he  was  conscious  of  the  rending  of  tim 
bers.  The  scow  bulged  up  with  the  mighty  force 
beneath,  and  for  a  second  or  two  it  seemed  as  though 
that  force  was  going  to  overturn  and  submerge  it. 
Then  slowly  it  began  to  slip  off  the  nose  of  the  rock. 

Holding  to  the  rail  with  one  hand  and  clinging  to 
Marette  with  his  other  arm,  Kent  was  gripped  in  the 
horror  of  what  was  happening.  The  scow  was  slip 
ping  into  the  right  hand  channel!  In  that  channel 
there  was  no  hope — only  death. 

Marette  was  squarely  facing  the  thing  ahead.  In 
this  hour  when  each  second  held  a  lifetime  of  sus 
pense  Kent  saw  that  she  understood.  Yet  she  did  not 
cry  out.  Her  face  was  dead  white.  Her  hair  and 
arms  and  shoulders  were  dripping  with  the  splash  of 
water.  But  she  was  not  terrified  as  he  had  seen 
terror.  When  she  turned  her  eyes  to  him,  he  was 
amazed  by  the  quiet,  calm  look  that  was  in  them.  Her 
lips  trembled. 

His  soul  expressed  itself  in  a  wordless  cry  that  was 
drowned  in  another  crash  of  timber  as  a  jutting  snag 
of  the  Tooth  crumpled  up  the  little  cabin  as  if  it  had 
been  pasteboard.  He  felt  overwhelming  him  the  surge 
of  a  thing  mightier  than  the  menace  of  the  Chute. 
He  could  not  lose !  It  was  inconceivable.  Impossible ! 
With  her  to  fight  for — this  slim,  wonderful  creature 
who  smiled  at  him  even  as  she  saw  death. 

And  then,  as  his  arm  closed  still  more  tightly  about 
her,  the  monsters  of  power  and  death  gave  him  their 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       257 

answer.  The  scow  swung  free  of  the  Dragon's  Tooth, 
half -filled  with  water.  Its  cracked  and  broken  carcass 
was  caught  in  the  rock  jaws  of  the  eastern  channel. 
It  ceased  to  be  a  floating  thing.  It  was  inundation, 
dissolution,  utter  obliteration  almost  without  shock. 
And  Kent  found  himself  in  the  thundering  rush  of 
waters,  holding  to  Marette. 

For  a  space  they  were  under.  Black  water  and 
white  froth  fumed  and  exploded  over  them.  It  seemed 
an  age  before  fresh  air  filled  Kent's  nostrils.  He 
thrust  Marette  upward  and  cried  out  to  her.  He  heard 
her  answer. 

"I'm  all  right— Jeems!" 

His  swimming  prowess  was  of  little  avail  now.  He 
was  like  a  chip.  All  his  effort  was  to  make  of  himself 
a  barrier  between  Marette's  soft  body  and  the  rocks. 
It  was  not  the  water  itself  that  he  feared,  but  the  rocks. 

There  were  scores  and  hundreds  of  them,  like  the 
teeth  of  a  mighty  grinding  machine.  And  the  jaw 
was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length.  He  felt  the  first 
shock,  the  second,  the  third.  He  was  not  thinking 
of  time  or  distance,  but  was  fighting  solely  to  keep 
himself  between  Marette  and  death.  The  first  time 
he  failed,  a  blind  sort  of  rage  burned  in  his  brain. 

He  saw  her  white  body  strained  over  a  slippery,  del 
uge-worn  rock.  Her  head  was  flung  back,  and  he 
saw  the  long  masses  of  her  hair  streaming  out  in  the 
white  froth,  and  he  thought  for  an  instant  that  her 
fragile  body  had  been  broken.  He  fought  still  more 


258       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

fiercely  after  that.  And  she  knew  for  what  he  was 
fighting.  Only  in  an  unreal  sort  of  way  was  he  con 
scious  of  shock  and  hurt.  It  gave  him  no  physical 
pain.  Yet  he  sensed  the  growing  dizziness  in  his  head, 
an  increasing  lack  of  strength  in  his  arms  and  body. 

They  were  halfway  through  the  Chute  when  he  shot 
against  a  rock  with  terrific  force.  The  contact  tore 
Marette  from  him.  He  plunged  for  her,  missed  his 
grip,  and  then  saw  her  opposite  him,  clinging  to  the 
same  rock.  The  babiche  rope  had  saved  her.  Fastened 
about  her  waist  and  tied  to  his  wrist,  it  still  held  them 
together — with  the  five  feet  of  rock  between  them. 

Panting,  their  life  half  beaten  out  of  them,  their 
eyes  met  over  that  rock.  Now  that  he  was  out  of 
the  water,  the  blood  began  streaming  from  Kent's 
arms  and  shoulders  and  face,  but  he  smiled  at  her  as 
a  few  moments  before  she  had  smiled  at  him.  Her 
eyes  were  filled  with  the  pain  of  his  hurts.  He  nodded 
back  in  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come. 

"We're  out  of  the  worst  of  it,"  he  tried  to  shout. 
"As  soon  as  we've  got  our  wind,  I  will  climb  over 
the  rock  to  you.  It  won't  take  us  longer  than  a  couple 
of  minutes,  perhaps  less,  to  make  the  quiet  water  at 
the  end  of  the  channel."  f 

She  heard  him  and  nodded  her  reply.  He  wanted 
to  give  her  confidence.  And  he  had  no  intention  of 
resting,  for  her  position  filled  him  with  a  terror  which 
he  fought  to  hide.  The  babiche  rope,  not  half  as  large 
around  as  his  little  finger,  had  swung  her  to  the  down- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       259 

stream  side  of  the  rock.  It  was  the  slender  thread  of 
buckskin  and  his  own  weight  that  were  holding  her. 
If  the  buckskin  should  break 

He  thanked  God  that  it  was  the  tough  babiche  that 
had  bren  around  his  pack.  An  inch  at  a  time  he  began 
to  draw  himself  up  on  the  rock.  The  undertow  behind 
the  rock  had  flung  a  mass  of  Marette's  long  hair  to 
ward  him,  so  that  it  was  a  foot  or  two  nearer  to  him 
than  her  clinging  hands.  He  worked  himself  toward 
that,  for  he  saw  that  he  could  reach  it  more  quickly 
than  he  could  reach  her.  At  the  same  time  he  had  to 
keep  his  end  of  the  babiche  taut.  It  was,  from  the 
beginning,  an  almost  superhuman  task.  The  rock 
was  slippery  as  oil.  Twice  his  eyes  shot  down-stream, 
with  the  thought  that  it  might  be  better  to  cast  him 
self  bodily  into  the  water,  and  after  that  draw  Marette 
to  him  by  means  of  the  babiche.  What  he  saw  con 
vinced  him  that  such  action  would  be  fatal.  He  must 
have  Marette  in  his  arms.  If  he  lost  her — even  for 
a  few  seconds — the  life  would  be  beaten  from  her  body 
in  that  rock-strewn  maelstrom  below. 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  babiche  cord  about  his  wrist 
grew  loose.  The  reaction  almost  threw  him  back. 
With  the  iloosening  of  it  a  cry  came  from  Marette. 
It  all  happened  in  an  instant,  in  almost  less  time 
than  his  brain  could  seize  upon  the  significance  of  it — 
the  slipping  of  her  hands  from  the  rock,  the  shooting 
of  aer  white  body  away  from  him  in  the  still  whiter 
of  the  rapids.  The  rock  had  cut  the  babiche, 


SDtiiru 


26o       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

and  she  was  gone !  With  a  cry  that  was  like  the  cry  of 
a  madman  he  plunged  after  her.  The  water  engulfed 
him.  He  twisted  himself  up,  freeing  himself  from 
the  undertow.  Twenty  feet  ahead  of  him — thirty — • 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  arm  and  then  of  Mar- 
ette's  face,  before  she  disappeared  in  a  wall  of  froth. 

Into  that  froth  he  shot  after  her.  He  came  out  of 
it  blinded,  groping  wildly  for  her,  crying  out  her 
name.  His  fingers  caught  the  end  of  the  babiche  that 
was  fastened  about  his  own  wrist,  and  he  clutched  it 
savagely,  believing  for  a  moment  that  he  had  found 
her.  Thicker  and  more  deadly  the  rocks  of  the  lower 
passage  rose  in  his  way.  They  seemed  like  living 
things,  like  devils  filled  with  the  desire  to  torture  and 
destroy.  They  struck  and  beat  at  him.  Their  laugh 
ter  was  the  roar  of  a  Niagara.  He  no  longer  cried 
out.  His  brain  grew  heavy,  and  clubs  were  beating 
him — beating  and  breaking  him  into  a  formless  thing. 
The  rock-drifts  of  spume,  lather-white,  like  the  frost 
ing  of  a  monster  cake,  turned  gray  and  then  black. 

He  did  not  know  when  he  ceased  fighting.  The  day 
went  out.  Night  came.  The  world  was  oblivion.  And 
for  a  space  he  ceased  to  live. 


.,.,. 


m 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AN  hour  later  the  fighting  forces  in  his  body 
dragged  Kent  back  into  existence.  He  opened  his 
eyes.  The  shock  of  what  had  happened  did  not  at  once 
fall  upon  him.  His  first  sensation  was  of  awakening 
from  a  sleep  that  had  been  filled  with  pain  and  horror. 

Then  he  saw  a  black  rock  wall  opposite  him;  he 
heard  the  sullen  roar  of  the  stream ;  his  eyej  fell  upon 
a  vivid  patch  of  light  reflected  from  the  setting  sun. 
He  dragged  himself  up  until  he  was  on  his  kn^es,  and 
all  at  once  a  thing  that  was  like  an  iron  hoop — choking 
his  senses — seemed  to  break  in  his  head,  and  he  stag 
gered  to  his  feet,  crying  out  Marette's  name.  Under 
standing  inundated  him  with  its  horror,  deadening  his 
tongue  after  that  first  cry,  filling  his  throat  with  a 
moaning,  sobbing  agony.  Marette  was  gone.  She 
was  lost.  She  was  dead. 

Swiftly,  as  reason  came,  his  eyes  took  in  his  envi 
ronment.  For  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  him  he  could 
see  the  white  spume  between  the  chasm  walls,  darken 
ing  with  the  approach  of  night.  He  could  hear  more 
clearly  the  roar  of  the  death-floods.  But  close  to  him 
was  smooth  water,  and  he  stood  now  on  a  shelving 
tongue  of  rock  and  shale,  upon  which  the  current  had 
flung  him.  In  front  of  him  was  a  rock  wall.  Behind 

261 


262  \    THE  VALLEY  GF  SILENT  MEN 

him  was  another.  There  was  no  footing  except  where 
he  stood.  And  Marette  was  not  with  him. 

Only  the  truth  could  batter  at  his  brain  as  he  stood 
there.  But  his  physical  self  refused  to  accept  that 
truth.  If  he  had  lived,  she  must  live !  She  was  there 
— somewhere — along  the  shore — among  the  rocks 

The  moaning  in  his  throat  gave  way  to  the  voicing 
of  her  name.  He  shouted,  and  listened.  He  swayed 
back  along  the  tongue  of  rock  to  the  boulder-strewn 
edge  of  the  chasm  wall.  A  hundred  yards  farther  on 
was  the  opening  of  the  Chute.  He  came  out  of  this, 
his  clothes  torn  from  him,  his  body  bleeding,  unrecog 
nizable,  half  a  madman, — shouting  her  name  more  and 
more  loudly.  The  glow  of  the  setting  sun  struck  him 
at  last.  He  was  out  from  between  the  chasm  walls, 
and  it  lighted  up  the  green  world  for  him.  Ahead  of 
him  the  river  widened  a"nd  swept  on  in  tranquil  quiet. 

And  now  it  was  no  longer  fear  that  possessed  him. 
It  was  the  horrible,  overwhelming  certainty  of  the 
thing.  The  years  fell  from  him,  and  he  sobbed— 
sobbed  like  a  boy  stricken  by  some  great  childish  grief, 
as  he  searched  along  the  edge  of  the  shore.  Over  and 
over  again  he  cried  and  whispered  Marette's  name. 

But  he  did  not  shout  it  again,  for  he  knew  that  she 
was  dead.  She  was  gone  from  him  forever.  Yet  he 
did  not  cease  to  search.  The  last  of  the  sun  went  out. 
Tyvilight  came,  and  then  darkness.  Even  in  that 
darkness  he  continued  to  search  for  a  mile  below  the 
Chute,  calling  her  name  more  loudly  now,,  and  listen- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN    /  263 

ing  always  for  the  answer  which  he  knew  would  iWer 
come.  The  moon  came  out  after  a  time,  and  hour 
after  hour  he  kept  up  his  hopeless  quest.  He  did  not 
know  how  badly  the  rocks  had  battered  and  hurt  him, 
and  he  scarcely  knew  when  it  was  that  exhaustion 
dropped  him  like  a  dead  man  in  his  tracks.  When  dawn 
came,  it  found  him  wandering  away  from  the  river,  and 
toward  noon  of  that  day,  he  was  found  by  Andre  Boi- 
leau,  the  old  white-haired  half-breed  who  trapped  on 
Burntwood  Creek.  Andre  was  shocked  at  the  sight  of 
his  wounds  and  half  dragged  and  half  carried  him  to 
his  shack  hidden  away  in  the  forest. 

For  six  days  thereafter  Kent  remained  at  old  An 
dre's  place,  simply  because  he  had  neither  the  strength 
nor  the  reason  to  move.  Andre  wondered  that  there 
were  no  broken  bones  in  him.  But  his  head  was  ter 
ribly  hurt,  and  it  was  that  hurt  that  for  three  days 
and  three  nights  made  Kent  hover  with  nerve-racking 
indecision  between  life  and  death.  The  fourth  day 
reason  came  back  to  him,  and  Boileau  fed  him  venison 
broth.  The  fifth  day  he  stood  up.  The  sixth  he 
thanked  Andre,  and  said  that  he  was  ready  to  go. 

Andre  outfitted  him  with  old  clothes,  gave  him  a  sup 
ply  of  fool  and  God's  blessing.  And  Kent  returned 
to  the  Chute,  giving  Andre  to  understand  that  his  des 
tination  was  Athabasca  Landing. 

Kent  knew  that  it  was  not  wise  for  him  to  return 
to  the  river.  He  knew  that  it  would  have  been  better 
for  him  both  in  mind  and  body  had  be  gone  in  the 


26,f    \  THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

opposite  direction.  But  he  no  longer  had  in  him  the 
desire  to  fight,  even  for  himself.  He  followed  the 
lines  of  least  resistance,  and  these  led  him  back  to  the 
scene  of  the  tragedy.  His  grief,  when  he  returned, 
was  no  longer  the  heartbreaking  agony  of  that  first 
night.  It  was  a  deep-seated,  consuming  fire  that  had 
Already  burned  him  out,  heart  and  soul.  Even  caution 
was  dead  in  him.  He  feared  nothing,  avoided  noth 
ing.  Had  the  police  boat  been  at  the  Chute,  he  would 
have  revealed  himself  without  any  thought  of  self- 
preservation.  A  ray  of  hope  would  have  been  precious 
medicine  to  him.  But  there  was  no  hope.  Marette 
was  dead.  Her  tender  body  was  destroyed.  And  he 
was  alone,  unfathomably  and  hopelessly  alone. 

And  now,  after  he  had  reached  the  river  again, 
something  held  him  there.  From  the  head  of  the  Chute 
to  a  bend  in  the  river  two  miles  below,  his  feet  wore 
a  beaten  trail.  Three  or  four  times  a  day  he  would 
make  the  trip,  and  along  the  path  he  set  a  few  snares 
in  which  he  caught  rabbits  for  food.  Each  night  he 
made  his  bed  in  a  crevice  among  the  rocks  at  the  foot 
of  the  Chute.  At  the  end  of  a  week  the  old  Jim  Kent 
was  dead.  Even  O'Connor  would  not  have  recognized 
him  with  his  shaggy  growth  of  beard,  his  hollow  eyes, 
and  the  sunken  cheeks  which  the  beard  failed  to  hide. 

And  the  fighting  spirit  in  him  also  was  dead.  Once 
or  twice  there  leaped  up  in  him  a  sudden  passion  de 
manding  vengeance  upon  the  accursed  Law  that  was 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       265 

accountable  for  the  death  of  Marette,  but  even  this 
flame  snuffed  itself  out  quickly. 

And  then,  on  the  eighth  day,  he  saw  the  edge  of  a 
thing  that  was  almost  hidden  under  an  overhanging 
bank.  He  fished  it  out.  It  was  Marette's  little  pack, 
and  for  many  minutes  before  he  opened  it  Kenti 
crushed  the  sodden  treasure  to  his  breast,  staring  with! 
half -mad  eyes  down  where  he  had  found  it,  as  i£ 
Marette  must  be  there,  too.  Then  he  ran  with  it  to 
an  open  space,  where  the  sun  fell  warmly  on  a  great, 
flat  rock  that  was  level  with  the  ground,  and  with; 
sobbing  breath  he  opened  it.  It  was  filled  with  the 
things  she  had  picked  up  quickly  in  her  room  the  night 
of  their  flight  from  Kedsty's  bungalow,  and  as  he 
drew  them  out  one  by  one  and  placed  them  in  the 
sun  on  the  rock,  a  new  and  sudden  rush  of  life  swept 
through  his  veins,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  faced 
the  river  again,  as  if  at  last  a  hope  had  "come  to  him. 
Then  he  looked  down  again  upon  what  she  had  treas 
ured,  and  reaching  out  his  arms  to  them,  he  whispered, 

"Marette— my  little  goddess " 

Even  in  his  grief  the  overwhelming  mastery  of  his 
love  for  the  one  who  was  dead  brought  a  smile  to  his 
haggard  and  bearded  face.  For  Marette,  in  filling 
her  little  pack  on  that  night  of  hurried  flight,  had 
chosen  strange  things.  On  the  sunlit  rock,  where  he 
had  placed  them,  were  a  pair  of  the  little  pumps  which 
he  had  fallen  on  his  knees  to  worship  in  her  room,  and 
with  these  she  had  crowded  into  the  pack  one  of  the 


266       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

billowing,  sweet-smelling  dresses  which  had  made  his 
heart  stand  still  for  a  moment  when  he  first  looked  into 
their  hiding-place.  It  was  no  longer  soft  and  cob 
webby  as  it  had  been  then,  like  down  fluttering  against 
his  cheeks,  but  sodden  and  discolored,  as  it  lay  on  the 
rock  with  little  rivulets  of  water  running  from  it 

With  the  shoes  and  the  dress  were  the  intimate  neces 
sities  which  Marette  had  taken  with  her.  But  it  was 
one  of  the  pumps  that  Kent  picked  up  and  crushed 
close  to  his  ragged  breast — one  of  the  two  she  had 
worn  that  first  wonderful  day  she  had  come  to  see 
him  at  Cardigan's  place. 

This  hour  was  the  beginning  of  another  change  in 
Kent.  It  seemed  to  him  that  a  message  had  come 
to  him  from  Marette  herself,  that  the  spirit  of  her 
had  returned  to  him  and  was  with  him  now,  stirring 
strange  things  in  his  soul  and  warming  his  blood  with 
a  new  heat.  She  was  gone  forever,  and  yet  she  had 
come  back  to  him,  and  the  truth  grew  upon  him  that 
this  spirit  of  her  would  never  leave  him  again  as  long 
as  he  lived.  He  felt  her  nearness.  Unconsciously  he 
reached  out  his  arms,  and  a  strange  happiness  entered 
into  him  to  battle  with  grief  and  loneliness.  His  eyes 
shone  with  a  new  glow  as  they  looked  at  her  little  be 
longings  on  the  sunlit  rock.  It  was  as  if  they  were 
flesh  and  blood  of  her,  a  part  of  her  heart  and  soul. 
They  were  the  voice  of  her  faith  in  him,  her  promise 
that  she  would  be  with  him  always.  For  the  first  time 
in  many  days  Kent  felt  a  new  force  within  him,  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       267 

he  knew  that  she  was  not  quite  gone,  that  he  had  some 
thing  of  her  left  to  fight  for. 

That  night  he  made  his  bed  for  a  last  time  in  the 
crevice  between  the  rocks,  and  his  treasure  was  gath 
ered  within  the  protecting  circle  of  his  arms  as  he 
slept. 

The  next  day  he  struck  out  north  and  east.  On  the 
fifth  day  after  he  left  the  country  of  Andre  Boileau 
he  traded  his  watch  to  a  half-breed  for  a  cheap  gun, 
ammunition,  a  blanket,  flour,  and  a  cooking  outfit. 
After  that  he  had  no  hesitation  in  burying  himself 
still  deeper  into  the  forests. 

A  month  later  no  one  would  have  recognized  Kent 
as  the  one-time  crack  man  of  N  Division.  Bearded, 
ragged,  long-haired,  he  wandered  with  no  other  pur^ 
pose  than  to  be  alone  and  to  get  still  farther  away 
from  the  river.  Occasionally  he  talked  with  an  Indian 
or  a  half-breed.  Each  night,  though  the  weather  was 
very  warm,  he  made  himself  a  small  camp-fire,  for 
it  was  always  in  these  hours,  with  the  fire-light  about 
him,  that  he  felt  Marette  was  very  near.  It  was  then 
that  he  took  out  one  by  one  the  precious  things  that 
were  in  Marette's  little  pack.  He  worshipped  these 
things.  The  dress  and  each  of  the  little  shoes  he  had 
wrapped  in  the  velvety  inner  bark  of  the  birch  tree. 
He  protected  them  from  wet  and  storm.  Had  emer 
gency  called  for  it,  he  would  have  fought  for  them. 
They  became,  after  a  time,  more  precious  than  his 
own  life,  and  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  at  first  he  began 


268        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

to  thank  God  that  the  river  had  not  robbed  him  of 
everything. 

Kent's  inclination  was  not  to  fight  himself  into  for- 
getfulness.  He  wanted  to  remember  every  act,  every 
word,  every  treasured  caress  that  chained  him  for  all 
time  to  the  love  he  had  lost.  Marette  became  more  a 
part  of  him  every  day.  Dead  in  the  flesh,  she  was 
always  at  his  side,  nestling  close  in  the  shelter  of  his 
arms  at  night,  walking  with  her  hand  in  his  during 
the  day.  And  in  this  belief  his  grief  was  softened 
by  the  sweet  and  merciful  comfort  of  a  possession  of 
which  neither  man  nor  fate  could  rob  him — a  beloved 
Presence  always  with  him. 

It  was  this  Presence  that  rebuilt  Kent.  It  urged 
him  to  throw  up  his  head  again,  to  square  his  shoul 
ders,  to  look  life  once  more  straight  in  the  face.  It 
was  both  inspiration  and  courage  to  him,  and  grew 
nearer  and  dearer  to  him  as  time  passed.  Early  Autumn 
found  him  in  the  Fond  du  Lac  country,  two  hundred 
miles  east  of  Fort  Chippewyan.  That  Winter  he  joined 
a  Frenchman,  and  until  February  they  trapped  along 
the  edges  of  the  lower  fingers  of  the  Barrens. 

He  came  to  think  a  great  deal  of  Picard,  his  com 
rade.  But  he  revealed  nothing  of  his  secret  to  him, 
or  of  the  new  desire  that  was  growing  in  him.  And 
as  the  Winter  lengthened  this  desire  became  a  deep  and 
abiding  yearning.  It  was  with  him  night  and  day.  He 
dreamed  of  it  when  he  slept,  and  it  was  never  out  of 
his  thoughts  when  awake.  He  wanted  to  go  home. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       269 

And  when  he  thought  of  home,  it  was  not  of  the 
Landing,  and  not  of  the  country  south.  For  him  home 
meant  only  one  place  in  the  world  now — the  place 
where  Marette  had  lived.  Somewhere,  hidden  in  the 
mountains  far  north  and  west,  was  that  mysterious 
Valley  of  Silent  Men  where  they  had  been  going  when 
her  body  died.  And  the  spirit  of  her  wanted  him  to 
go  to  it  now.  It  was  like  a  voice  pleading  with  him, 
urging  him  to  go,  to  live  there  always  where  she  had 
lived.  He  began  to  plan,  and  in  this  planning  he  found 
new  joy  and  new  life.  He  would  find  her  home,  her 
people,  the  valley  that  was  to  have  been  their  paradise. 
So  late  in  February,  with  his  share  of  the  Winter 
catch  in  his  pack,  he  said  good-by  to  Picard  and  faced 
the  River  again. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

T7"ENT  had  not  forgotten  that  he  was  an  outlaw, 
"•  but  he  was  not  afraid.  Now  that  he  had  some 
thing  new  and  thrilling  to  fight  for,  he  fell  back  again 
upon  what  he  called  "the  finesse  of  the  game."  He 
approached  Chippewyan  cautiously,  although  he  was 
sure  that  even  his  old  friends  at  the  Landing  would 
fail  to  recognize  him  now.  His  beard  was  four  or  five 
inches  long,  and  his  hair  was  shaggy  and  uncut.  Picard 
had  made  him  a  coat,  that  winter,  of  young  caribou 
skin,  and  it  was  fringed  like  an  Indian's.  Kent  chose 
his  time  and  entered  Chippewyan  just  before  dusk. 

Oil  lamps  were  burning  in  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com 
pany's  store  when  he  went  in  with  his  furs.  The  place 
was  empty,  except  for  the  factor's  clerk,  and  for  an 
hour  he  bartered.  He  bought  a  new  outfit,  a  Win 
chester  rifle,  and  all  the  supplies  he  could  carry.  He 
did  not  forget  a  razor  and  a  pair  of  shears,  and  when 
he  was  done  he  still  had  the  value  of  two  silver  fox 
skins  in  cash.  He  left  Chippewyan  that  same  night, 
and  by  the  light  of  a  Winter  moon  made  his  camp  half 
a  dozen  miles  northward  toward  Smith  Landing. 

He  was  on  the  Slave  River  now  and  for  weeks 
traveled  slowly  but  steadily  northward  on  snowshoes. 
He  avoided  Fort  Smith  and  Smith  Landing  and  struck 

270 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       271 

westward  before  he  came  to  Fort  Resolution.  It  was 
in  April  that  he  struck  Hay  River  Post,  where  the 
Hay  River  empties  into  Great  Slave  Lake.  Until  the 
ice  broke  up,  Kent  worked  at  Hay  River.  When  it 
was  safe,  he  started  down  the  Mackenzie  in  a  canoe. 
It  was  late  in  June  when  he  turned  up  the  Liard  to 
the  South  Nahani. 

"You  go  straight  through  between  the  sources  of 
the  North  and  the  South  Nahani/'  Marette  had  told 
him.  "It  is  there  you  find  the  Sulphur  Country,  and 
beyond  the  Sulphur  Country  is  the  Valley  of  Silent 
Men." 

At  last  he  came  to  the  edge  of  this  country.  He 
camped  with  the  stink  of  it  in  his  nostrils.  The  moon 
rose,  and  he  saw  that  desolate  world  as  through  the 
fumes  of  a  yellow  smoke.  With  dawn  he  went  on. 

He  passed  through  broad,  low  morasses  out  of  which 
rose  sulphurous  fogs.  Mile  after  mile  he  buried  him 
self  deeper  in  it,  and  it  became  more  and  more  a  dead 
country,  a  lost  hell.  There  were  berry  bushes  on  which 
there  grew  no  berries.  There  were  forests  and 
swamps,  but  without  a  living  creature  to  inhabit  them. 

It  was  a  country  of  water  in  which  there  were  no 
fish,  of  air  in  which  there  were  no  birds,  of  plants 
without  flowers — a  reeking,  stinking  country  still  with 
the  stillness  of  death.  He  began  to  turn  yellow.  His 
clothing,  his  canoe,  his  hands,  face — everything  turned 
yellow.  He  could  not  get  the  filthy  taste  of  sulphur 
out  of  his  mouth.  Yet  he  kept  on,  straight  west  by 


272       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  compass  Gowen  had  given  him  at  Hay  River.  Even 
this  compass  became  yellow  in  his  pocket.  It  was  im 
possible  for  him  to  eat.  Only  twice  that  day  did  he 
drink  from  his  flask  of  water. 

And  Marette  had  made  this  journey !  He  kept  tell 
ing  himself  that.  It  was  the  secret  way  in  and  out  of 
their  hidden  world,  a  region  accursed  by  devils,  a 
forbidden  country  to  both  Indian  and  white  man.  It 
was  hard  for  him  to  believe  that  she  had  come  this 
way,  that  she  had  drunk  in  the  air  that  was  filling  his 
own  lungs,  nauseating  him  a  dozen  times  to  the  point 
of  sickness.  He  worked  desperately.  He  felt  neither 
fatigue  nor  the  heat  of  the  warm  water  about  him. 

Night  came,  and  the  moon  rose,  lighting  up  with  a 
sickly  glow  the  diseased  world  that  had  swallowed 
him.  He  lay  in  the  bottom  of  his  canoe,  covering  his 
face  with  his  caribou  coat,  and  tried  to  sleep.  But 
sleep  would  not  come.  Before  dawn  he  struck  on, 
watching  his  compass  by  the  light  of  matches.  All 
that  day  he  made  no  effort  to  swallow  food.  But  with 
the  coming  of  the  second  night  he  found  the  air  easier 
to  breathe.  He  fought  his  way  on  by  the  light  of  the 
moon  which  was  clearer  now.  And  at  last,  in  a  rest 
ing  spell,  he  heard  far  ahead  of  him  the  howl  of  a  wolf. 

In  his  joy  he  cried  out.  A  western  breeze  brought 
him  air  that  he  drank  in  as  a  desert-stricken  man 
drinks  water.  He  did  not  look  at  his  compass  again, 
but  worked  steadily  in  the  face  of  that  fresh  air.  An 
hour  later  he  found  that  he  was  paddling  again  a  slow 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       273 

current,  and  when  he  tasted  the  water  it  was  only 
slightly  tainted  with  sulphur.  By  midnight  the  water 
was  cool  and  clean.  He  landed  on  a  shore  of  sand  and 
pebbles,  stripped  to  the  skin,  and  gave  himself  such 
a  scouring  as  he  had  never  before  experienced.  He 
had  worn  his  old  trapping  shirt  and  trousers,  and  after 
his  bath  he  changed  to  the  outfit  which  he  had  kept 
clean  in  his  pack.  Then  he  built  a  fire  and  ate  his 
first  meal  in  two  days. 

The  next  morning  he  climbed  a  tall  spruce  and  sur 
veyed  the  country  about  him.  Westward  there  was 
a  broad  low  country  shut  in  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
away  by  the  foothills.  Beyond  these  foothills  rose 
the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  Rockies.  He  shaved 
himself,  cut  his  hair,  and  went  on.  That  night  he 
camped  only  when  he  could  drive  his  canoe  no  farther. 
The  waterway  had  narrowed  to  a  creek,  and  he  was 
among  the  first  green  shoulders  of  the  hills  when  he 
stopped.  With  another  dawn  he  concealed  his  canoe 
in  a  sheltered  place  and  went  on  with  his  pack. 

For  a  week  he  picked  his  way  slowly  westward.  It 
was  a  splendid  country  into  which  he  had  come,  and 
yet  he  found  no  sign  of  human  life.  The  foothills 
changed  to  mountains,  and  he  believed  he  was  in  the 
Campbell  Range.  Also  he  knew  that  he  had  followed 
the  logical  trail  from  the  sulphur  country.  Yet  it 
was  the  eighth  day  before  he  came  upon  a  sign  which 
told  him  that  another  living  being  had  at  some  time 
passed  that  way.  What  he  found  were  the  charred 


274       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

remnants  of  an  old  camp-fire.  It  had  been  a  white 
man's  fire.  He  knew  that  by  the  size  of  it.  It  had 
been  an  all-night  fire  of  green  logs  cut  with  an  axe. 

On  the  tenth  day  he  came  to  the  westward  slope  of 
the  first  range  and  looked  down  upon  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  valleys  his  eyes  had  ever  beheld.  It  was 
more  than  a  valley.  It  was  a  broad  plain.  Fifty  miles 
across  it  rose  the  towering  majesty  of  the  mightiest 
of  all  the  Yukon  mountains. 

And  now,  though  he  saw  a  paradise  about  him, 
his  heart  began  to  sink  within  him.  It  seemed  to  him 
inconceivable  that  in  a  country  so  vast  he  could  find 
the  spot  for  which  he  was  seeking.  His  one  hope  lay 
in  finding  white  men  or  Indians,  some  one  who  might 
guide  him. 

He  traveled  slowly  over  the  fifty-mile  plain  rich  with 
a  verdure  of  green,  covered  with  flowers,  a  game  para 
dise.  Few  hunters  had  come  so  far  out  of  the  Yukon 
mountains,  he  told  himself.  And  none  had  come  from 
out  of  the  sulphur  country.  It  was  a  new  and  undis 
covered  world.  On  his  map  it  was  a  blank  space.  .  And 
there  were  no  signs  of  people.  Ahead  of  him  the 
Yukon  mountains  rose  in  an  impenetrable  wall,  peak 
after  peak,  crested  with  snow,  towering  like  mighty 
watchdogs  above  the  clouds.  He  knew  what  lay  be 
yond  them — the  great  rivers  of  the  Western  slope, 
Dawson  City,  the  gold  country  and  its  civilization. 
But  those  things  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun 
tains.  On  his  side  there  was  only  the  vast  and  undis- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       275 

puted  silence  of  a  paradise  as  yet  unclaimed  by  man. 

As  he  went  on  into  this  valley  there  grew  upon  him 
a  strange  and  comforting  peace.  Yet  with  it  there 
was  a  steadily  increasing  belief  that  he  would  not  find 
that  for  which  he  had  come  in  search.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  analyze  this  belief.  It  became  a  part  of 
him,  just  as  his  mental  tranquillity  had  grown  upon 
him.  His  one  hope  of  success  was  that  nearer  the 
mountains  he  might  find  white  men  or  Indians. 

He  no  longer  used  his  compass,  but  guided  himself 
by  a  cluster  of  three  gigantic  peaks.  One  of  these  was 
taller  than  the  other  two.  As  he  journeyed,  his  eyes 
were  always  returning  to  it.  It  fascinated  him,  im 
pinged  itself  upon  him  as  the  watcher  of  a  million 
years,  guarding  the  valley.  He  began  to  think  of  it 
as  the  Watcher.  Each  hour  of  his  progress  seemed 
to  bring  it  a  little  more  intimately  to  his  vision.  From 
his  first  night's  camp  in  the  valley  he  saw  the  moon 
sink  behind  it.  Within  him  a  voice  that  never  died 
kept  whispering  to  him  that  this  mountain,  greater 
than  all  the  others,  had  been  Marette's  guardian.  Ten 
thousand  times  she  must  have  looked  at  it,  as  he  had 
looked  at  it  that  day — if  her  home  was  anywhere  this 
side  of  the  Campbell  Range.  A  hundred  miles  away 
she  could  have  seen  the  Watcher  on  a  clear  day. 

On  the  second  day  the  mountain  continued  to  grow 
upon  Kent.  By  mid-afternoon  it  began  to  take  on  a 
new  character.  The  peak  of  it  was  in  the  form  of  a 
mighty  castle  that  changed  as  he  advanced,  And  the 


276       THE  VALLEY.  OF  SILENT  MEN 

two  lesser  peaks  were  forming  into  definite  contours. 
Before  the  haze  of  twilight  dimmed  his  vision,  he 
knew  that  what  he  had  seen  was  not  a  whimsical  in 
vention  of  his  imagination.  The  Watcher  had  grown 
into  the  shape  of  a  mighty  human  head  facing  south. 
A  restless  excitement  possessed  him,  and  he  traveled 
on  long  after  dusk.  At  dawn  he  was  on  the  trail 
again.  Westward  the  sky  cleared,  and  suddenly  he 
stopped,  and  a  cry  came  from  him. 

The  Watcher's  head  was  there,  as  if  chiseled  by  the 
hands  of  giants.  The  two  smaller  peaks  had  unveiled 
their  mystery.  Startling  and  weird,  their  crests  had 
taken  on  the  form  of  human  heads.  One  of  them  was 
looking  north.  The  other  faced  the  valley.  And  Kent, 
his  heart  pounding,  cried  to  himself, 

"The  Silent  Men !" 

He  did  not  hear  himself,  but  the  thought  itself  was 
a  tumultuous  thing  within  him.  It  came  upon  him 
like  an  inundation,  a  sudden  and  thrilling  inspiration 
backed  by  the  forces  of  a  visual  truth.  The  Valley 
of  Silent  Men.  He  repeated  the  words,  staring  at 
the  three  colossal  heads  in  the  sky.  Somewhere  near 
them,  under  them, — one  side  or  the  other — was  Mar- 
ette's  hidden  valley ! 

He  went  on.  A  strange  joy  consumed  him.  In  it, 
at  times,  his  grief  was  obliterated,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  in  these  moments  that  Marette  must  surely  be  at 
the  valley  to  greet  him  when  he  came  to  it.  But  al 
ways  the  tragedy  of  the  Death  Chute  came  back  to 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       277 

him,  and  with  it  the  thought  that  the  three  giant  heads 
were  watching — and  would  always  watch — for  a  be 
loved  lost  one  who  would  never  return.  As  the  sun 
went  down  that  day,  the  face  bowed  to  the  valley 
seemed  alive  with  the  fire  of  a  living  question  sent 
directly  to  Kent. 

"Where  is  she?"  it  asked.  "Where  is  she?  Where 
is  she?" 

That  night  Kent  did  not  sleep. 

The  next  day  there  lay  ahead  of  him  a  low  and 
broken  range,  the  first  of  the  deeper  mountains.  He 
climbed  this  steadily,  and  at  noon  had  reached  the 
crest.  And  he  knew  that  at  last  he  was  looking  down 
into  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men.  It  was  not  a  wide 
valley,  like  the  other.  On  the  far  side  of  it,  three  or 
four  miles  away,  rose  the  huge  mountain  whose  face 
was  looking  down  upon  the  green  meadows  at  its 
foot.  Southward  Kent  could  see  for  a  long  distance, 
and  in  the  vivid  sunlight  he  saw  the  shimmer  of 
creeks  and  little  lakes,  and  the  rich  glow  of  thick 
patches  of  cedar  and  spruce  and  balsam,  scattered  like 
great  rugs  of  velvety  luster  amid  the  flowering  green 
of  the  valley.  Northward,  three  or  four  miles  away 
the  range  which  he  had  climbed  made  a  sharp  twist  to 
the  east,  and  that  part  of  the  valley — following  the 
swing  of  the  range — was  lost  to  him.  He  turned  in 
this  direction  after  he  had  rested.  It  was  four  o'clock 
when  he  came  to  the  elbow  in  the  valley,  and  could 
look  down  into  the  hidden  part  of  it. 


278       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

What  he  saw  at  first  was  a  giant  cup  hollowed  out 
of  the  surrounding  mountains,  a  cup  two  miles  from 
brim  to  brim,  the  end  of  the  valley  itself.  It  took  him 
a  few  moments  to  focus  his  vision  so  that  it  would 
pick  up  the  smaller  and  more  intimate  things  half  a 
mile  under  him,  and  yet,  before  he  had  done  this,  a 
sound  came  up  to  him  that  set  aquiver  every  nerve  in 
his  body.  It  was  the  far-down,  hollow-sounding  bark 
ing  of  a  dog. 

The  warm,  golden  haze  that  precedes  sunset  in  the 
mountains,  was  gathering  between  him  and  the  valley, 
but  through  this  he  made  out  after  a  time  evidences 
of  human  habitation  almost  straight  under  him.  There 
was  a  small  lake  out  of  which  ran  a  shimmering 
creek,  and  close  to  this  lake,  yet  equally  near  to  the 
base  of  the  mountain  on  which  he  was  standing,  were 
a  number  of  buildings  and  a  stockade  which  looked 
like  a  toy.  He  could  see  no  animals,  no  movement  of 
any  kind. 

Without  seeking  for  a  downward  trail  he  began  to 
descend.  Again  he  did  not  question  himself.  An 
overwhelming  certainty  possessed  him.  Of  all  places 
in  the  world  this  must  be  the  Valley  of  Silent  Men. 

And  below  him,  flooded  and  half -hidden  in  the  illu 
sive  sun-mist,  was  Marette's  old  home.  It  seemed  to 
him  now  that  it  belonged  to  him,  that  he  was  a  part  of 
it,  that  in  going  to  it  he  was  achieving  his  last  great 
resting  place,  his  final  refuge,  his  own  home.  And 
the  thought  became  strangely  a  part  of  him  that  a  wel- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       279 

come  must  be  waiting  for  him  there.  He  hurried 
until  his  breath  came  pantingly  between  his  lips  and  he, 
was  forced  to  rest.  And  at  last  he  found  himself 
where  his  progress  was  made  a  foot  at  a  time,  and 
again  and  again  he  was  forced  to  climb  back  and  de 
tour  around  treacherous  slides  and  precipitous  breaks 
which  left  sheer  falls  at  his  feet.  The  mist  thickened 
in  the  valley.  The  sun  sank  behind  the  western  peaks, 
and  swiftly  after  that  the  gloom  of  twilight  deepened. 
It  was  seven  o'clock  when  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
plain,  at  least  a  mile  below  the  elbow  which  shut  out 
the  cup  in  the  valley.  He  was  exhausted.  His  hands 
were  bruised  and  bleeding.  Darkness  shut  him  in 
when  he  went  on. 

When  he  rounded  the  elbow  of  the  mountain,  he  did 
not  try  to  keep  back  the  joyous  cry  that  came  to  his 
lips.  Ahead  of  him  there  were  lights.  A  few  of 
them  were  scattered,  but  nearest  to  him  he  saw  a  clus 
ter  of  them,  like  the  glow  that  comes  from  a  number 
of  illumined  windows.  He  quickened  his  pace  as  he 
drew  nearer  to  them,  and  at  last  he  wanted  to  run. 
And  then  something  stopped  him,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  his  heart  had  risen  into  his  throat  and  was  chok 
ing  him  until  he  could  not  breathe. 

It  was  a  man's  voice  he  heard,  calling  through  the 
twilight  gloom  a  name.  "Marette — Marette — Mar- 
ette " 

Kent  tried  to  cry  out,  but  his  breath  came  only  in 
a  gasp.  He  felt  himself  trembling.  He  reached  out 


280       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

his  arms,  and  a  strange  madness  rushed  like  fire  into 
his  brain. 

Again  the  voice  called,  "Marette — Marette — Mar- 
ette " 

The  cup  in  the  valley  echoed  the  name.  It  rolled 
softly  up  the  mountainside.  The  air  trembled  with 
it,  whispered  it,  passed  it  on — and  suddenly  the  mad 
ness  in  Kent  found  voice,  and  he  shouted, 

"Marette— Marette " 

He  ran  on.  His  knees  felt  weak.  He  shouted  the 
name  again,  and  the  other  voice  was  silent.  Things 
loomed  up  out  of  the  mist  ahead  of  him,  between  him 
and  the  glowing  windows.  Some  one — two  people — • 
were  advancing  to  meet  him,  doubtfully,  wonderingly. 
Kent  was  staggering,  but  he  cried  the  name  again,  and 
this  time  it  was  a  woman's  cry  that  answered,  and  one 
of  the  two  came  toward  him  swift  as  a  flash  of  light. 

Three  paces  apart  they  stood,  and  in  that  gloom 
of  the  after-twilight  their  burning  eyes  looked  at  each 
other,  while  for  a  space  their  bodies  remained  stricken 
in  the  face  of  this  miracle  of  a  great  and  merciful  God. 

The  dead  had  risen.  By  a  mighty  effort  Kent 
reached  out  his  arms,  and  Marette  swayed  to  him. 
When  the  other  man  came  up,  he  found  them  crumpled 
to  their  knees  on  the  earth,  clasped  like  children  in 
each  other's  arms.  And  as  Kent  raised  his  face,  he  saw 
that  it  was  Sandy  McTrigger  who  was  looking  down 
at  him,  the  man  whose  life  he  had  saved  at  Athabasca 
Landing. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HOW  long  it  was  before  his  brain  cleared,  Kent 
never  could  have  told.  It  might  have  been  a 
minute  or  an  hour.  Every  vital  force  that  was  in  him 
had  concentrated  into  a  single  consciousness — that  the 
dead  had  come  to  life,  that  it  was  Marette  Radisson, 
the  flesh  and  blood  and  living  warmth  of  her,  he  held 
in  his  arms.  Like  the  flash  of  a  picture  on  a  screen  he 
had  seen  McT rigger's  face  close  to  him,  and  then  his 
own  head  was  crushed  down  again,  and  if  the  valley 
had  been  filled  with  the  roar  of  cannon,  he  would  have 
heard  only  one  sound,  a  sobbing  voice  crying  over  and 

over  again,  "Jeems — Jeems — Jeems " 

It  was  McTrigger,  in  the  beginning  of  the  starlight, 
who  alone  looked  with  clear  vision  upon  the  wonder  of 
the  thing  that  was  happening.  After  a  little  Kent  real 
ized  that  McTrigger  was  talking,  that  a  hand  was  on 
his  shoulder,  that  the  voice  was  both  joyous  and  in 
sistent.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  still  holding  Marette,  her 
arms  clinging  to  him.  Her  breath  was  sobbing  and 
broken.  And  it  was  impossible  for  Kent  to  speak.  He 
seemed  to  stumble  over  the  distance  between  them  and 
the  lights,  with  McTrigger  on  the  other  side  of  Mar 
ette.  It  was  McTrigger  who  opened  a  door,  and  they 
came  into  a  glow  of  lamplight.  It  was  a  great,  strange- 


282       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

looking  room  they  entered.  And  over  the  threshold 
Marette's  hands  dropped  from  Kent,  and  Kent  stepped 
back,  so  that  in  the  light  they  faced  each  other,  and  in 
that  moment  came  the  marvelous  readjustment  from 
shock  and  disbelief  to  a  glorious  certainty. 

Again  Kent's  brain  was  as  clear  as  the  day  he  faced 
death  at  the  head  of  the  Chute.  And  swift  as  a  hot 
barb  a  fear  leaped  into  him  as  his  eyes  met  the  eyes 
of  the  girl.  She  was  terribly  changed.  Her  face  was 
white  with  a  whiteness  that  startled  him.  It  was  thin. 
Her  eyes  were  great,  slumbering  pools  of  violet,  al 
most  black  in  the  lamp  glow,  and  her  hair — piled  high 
on  her  head  as  he  had  seen  it  that  first  day  at  Cardi 
gan's — added  to  the  telltale  pallor  in  her  cheeks.  A 
hand  trembled  at  her  throat,  and  its  thinness  fright 
ened  him.  For  a  space — a  flash  of  seconds — she  looked 
at  him  as  if  possessed  of  the  subconscious  fear  that  he 
was  not  Jim  Kent,  and  then  slowly  her  arms  opened, 
and  she  reached  them  out  to  him.  She  did  not  smile, 
she  did  not  cry  out,  she  did  not  speak  his  name  now; 
but  her  arms  went  round  his  neck  as  he  took  her  to 
him,  and  her  face  dropped  on  his  breast.  He  looked 
at  McTrigger.  A  woman  was  standing  beside  him,  a 
dark-haired,  dark-eyed  woman,  and  she  had  laid  a 
hand  on  McT rigger's  arm.  Kent,  looking  at  them, 
understood. 

The  woman  came  to  him.  "I  had  better  take  her 
now,  m'sieu,"  she  said.  "Malcolm — will  tell  you. 
And  a  little  later, — you  may  see  her  again." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       283 

Her  voice  was  low  and  soft.  At  the  sound  of  it  Mar- 
ette  raised  her  head,  and  her  two  hands  stole  to  Kent's 
cheeks  in  their  old  sweet  way,  and  she  whispered, 

"Kiss  me,  Jeems — my  Jeems — kiss  me- " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  LITTLE  later,  clasping  hands  in  the  lamp 
*^  glow,  Kent  and  Sandy  McTrigger  stood  alone  in 
the  big  room.  In  their  handclasp  was  the  warm  thrill 
of  strong  men  met  in  an  immutable  brotherhood.  Each 
had  faced  death  for  the  other.  Yet  this  thought,  sub 
consciously  and  forever  a  part  of  them,  expressed  it 
self  only  in  the  grip  of  their  fingers  and  in  the  under 
standing  that  lay  deep  in  their  eyes. 

In  Kent's  face  the  great  question  was  of  Marette. 
McTrigger  saw  the  fear  of  it,  and  slowly  he  smiled, 
a  glad  and  yet  an  anxious  smile,  as  he  looked  toward 
the  door  through  which  Marette  and  the  older  woman 
had  gone. 

"Thank  God  you  have  come  in  time !"  he  said,  still 
holding  Kent's  hand.  "She  thought  you  were  dead. 
And  I  know,  Kent,  that  it  was  killing  her.  We  had 
to  watch  her  at  night.  Sometimes  she  would  wander 
out  into  the  valley.  She  said  she  was  looking  for  you. 
It  was  that  way  tonight." 

Kent  gulped  hard.  "I  understand  now/'  he  said. 
"It  was  the  living  soul  of  her  that  was  pulling  me 
here.  I " 

He  took  his  pack  with  its  precious  contents  from 
his  shoulders,  listening  to  McTrigger.  They  sat  down. 

284 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       2^ 

What  McTrigger  was  saying  seemed  of  trifling  con 
sequence  beside  the  fact  that  Marette  was  somewhere 
beyond  the  other  door,  alive,  and  that  he  would  see 
her  again  very  soon.  He  did  not  see  why  McTrigger 
should  tell  him  that  the  older  woman  was  his  wife. 
Even  the  fact  that  a  splendid  chance  had  thrown 
Marette  upon  a  log  wedged  between  two  rocks  in  the 
Chute,  and  that  this  log,  breaking  away,  had  carried 
her  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  miles  below,  was 
trivial  with  the  thought  that  only  a  door  separated 
them  now.  But  he  listened.  He  heard  McTrigger 
tell  how  Marette  had  searched  for  him  those  days 
when  he  was  lost  in  fever  at  Andre  Boileau's  cabin, 
how  she  had  given  him  up  for  dead,  and  how  in  those 
same  da)^s  Laselle's  brigade  had  floated  down,  and 
she  had  come  north  with  it.  Later  he  would  marvel 
over  these  things,  but  now  he  listened,  and  his 


turned  toward  the  door.  It  was  then  that  McTrigger 
drove  something  home.  It  was  like  a  shot  piercing 
Kent's  brain.  McTrigger  was  speaking  quietly  of 
O'Connor.  He  said  : 

"But  you  probably  came  by  way  of  Fort  Simpson, 
Kent,  and  O'Connor  has  told  you  all  this.  It  was  he 
who  brought  Marette  back  home  through  the  Sulphur 
Country.5' 

"O'Connor  !" 

Kent  sprang  to  his  feet  It  took  McTrigger  bul  a 
moment  to  read  the  truth  in  his  face. 

"Good  God,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know, 


86       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN. 

Kent?"  he  whispered  tensely,  rising  in  front  of  the 
other.  "Haven't  you  seen  O'Connor?  Haven't  you 
come  in  touch  with  the  Police  anywhere  within  the 
last  year?  Don't  you  know ?" 

"I  know  nothing/'  breathed  Kent. 

For  a  space  McTrigger  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"I  have  been  in  hiding,"  said  Kent.  "All  this  time 
I  have  been  keeping  away  from  the  Police." 

McTrigger  drew  a  deep  breath.  Again  his  hands 
gripped  Kent's,  and  his  voice  was  incredulous,  filled 
with  a  great  wonder.  "And  you  have  come  to  her,  to 
her  old  home,  believing  that  Marette  killed  Kedsty! 

It  is  hard  to  believe.  And  yet "  Into  his  face 

came  suddenly  a  look  of  grief,  almost  of  pain,  and 
Kent,  following  his  eyes,  saw  that  he  was  looking  at 
a  big  stone  fireplace  in  the  end  of  the  room. 

"It  was  O'Connor  who  worked  the  thing  out  last 
Winter,"  he  said,  speaking  with  an  effort.  "I  must 
tell  you  before  you  see  her  again.  You  must  under 
stand  everything.  It  will  not  do  to  have  her  tell  you. 
See " 

Kent  followed  him  to  the  fireplace.  From  the  shelf 
over  the  stonework  McTrigger  took  a  picture  and  gave 
it  to  him.  It  was  a  snapshot,  the  picture  of  a  bare 
headed  man  standing  in  the  open  with  the  sun  shining 
on  him. 

A  low  cry  broke  from  Kent's  lips.  It  was  the  great, 
gray  ghost  of  a  man  he  had  seen  in  the  lightning  Hare 


39 

THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       ;iid, 

uid 
that  night  from  the  window  of  his  hiding-place    • 

Kedsty's  bungalow.  ^ 

"My  brother,"  said  McTrigger  chokingly.  "I  lovec 
him.  For  forty  years  we  were  comrades.  And  Mar- 
ette  belonged  to  us,  half  and  half.  It  was  he — who 
killed — John  Barkley."  And  then,  after  a  moment 
in  which  McTrigger  fought  to  speak  steadily,  he  added, 
"And  it  was  he — my  brother — who  also  killed  In 
spector  Kedsty." 

For  a  matter  of  seconds  there  was  a  dead  silence 
between  them.  McTrigger  looked  into  the  fireplace 
instead  of  at  Kent.  Then  he  said: 

"He  killed  those  men,  but  he  didn't  murder  them, 
Kent.  It  couldn't  be  called  that.  It  was  justice,  single- 
man  justice,  without  going  to  law.  If  it  wasn't  for 
Marette,  I  wouldn't  tell  you  about  it — not  the  horrible 
part  of  it.  I  don't  like  to  bring  it  up  in  my  memory. 
..  -.  :.:  It  happened  years  ago.  I  was  not  married  then, 
but  my  brother  was  ten  years  older  than  I  and  had 
a  wife.  I  think  that  Marette  loves  you  as  Marie  loved 
Donald.  And  Donald's  love  was  more  than  that.  It 
was  worship.  We  came  into  the  new  mountain  coun 
try,  the  three  of  us,  even  before  the  big  strikes  at 
Dawson  and  Bonanza.  It  was  a  wild  country,  a  sav 
age  country,  and  there  were  few  women  in  it,  but 
Marie  came  with  Donald.  She  was  beautiful,  with 
hair  and  eyes  like  Marette' s.  That  was  the  tragedy 
of  it. 

"I  won't  tell  you  the  details.    They  were  terrible.    It 


KP        THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

ot'  pence!  \vhile  Donald  and  I  were  out  on  a  hunt. 

curee  men — white  men — remember  that,  Kent ;  white 

ncTi — came  out  of  the  North  and  stopped  at  the  cabin. 

When  we  returned,  what  we  found  there  drove  us 

mad.    Marie  died  in  Donald's  arms.    And  leaving  her 

there,  alone,  we  set  out  after  the  white-skinned  brutes 

who  had  destroyed  her.    Only  a  blizzard  saved  them, 

Kent.     Their  trail  was  fresh  when  the  storm  came. 

Had  it  held  oft  another  two  hours,  I,  too,  would  have 

killed. 

"From  that  day  Donald  and  I  became  man-hunters. 
We  traced  the  back  trail  of  the  three  fiends  and  dis 
covered  who  they  were.  Two  years  later  Donald  found 
one  of  the  three  on  the  Yukon,  and  before  he  killed 
him  he  made  him  verify  the  names  of  the  other  two. 
It  was  a  long  search  after  that,  Kent.  It  has  covered 
thirty  years.  Donald  grew  old  faster  than  I,  and  I 
knew,  after  a  time,  that  he  was  strangely  mad.  He 
would  be  gone  for  months  at  a  time,  always  searching" 
for  the  two  men.  Ten  years  passed,  and  then,  one 
day,  in  the  deep  of  Winter,  we  came  on  a  cabin  home 
that  had  been  stricken  with  the  plague — the  smallpox. 
It  was  the  home  of  Pierre  Radisson  and  his  wife  An 
drea.  Both  were  dead.  But  there  was  a  little  child 
still  living,  almost  a  babe  in  arms.  We  took  her, 
Donald  and  I.  The  child  was— Marette." 

McTrigger  had  spoken  almost  in  a  monotone.  He 
had  not  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ash  of  the  fireplace. 
But  new  he  locked  up  suddenly  at  Kent 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       289 

<fWe  worshipped  her  from  the  beginning/'  he  saicl, 
his  voice  a  bit  husky.  "I  hoped  that  love  for  her  would 
save  Donald.  It  did,  in  a  way.  But  it  did  not  cure  his 
madness,  his  desire  for  vengeance.  We  came  farther 
east.  We  found  this  marvelous  valley,  and  gold  in  the 
mountains,  untouched  by  other  men.  We  built  here, 
and  I  hoped  even  more  that  the  glory  of  this  new 
world  we  had  discovered  would  help  Donald  to  forget. 
I  married,  and  my  wife  loved  Marette.  We  had  a 
child,  and  then  another,  and  both  died.  We  loved  Mar 
ette  more  than  ever  after  that.  Anne,  my  wife,  was 
the  daughter  of  a  missioner  and  capable  of  educating 
Marette  up  to  a  certain  point.  You  will  find  this  place 
filled  with  all  kinds  of  books,  and  reading,  and  music. 
But  the  time  came  when  we  thought  we  must  send 
Marette  to  Montreal.  It  broke  her  heart.  And  then — > 
a  long  time  after " 

McTrigger  paused  a  moment,  looking  into  Kent's 
eyes.  "And  then — one  day  Donald  came  in  from 
Dawson  City,  terrible  in  his  madness,  and  told  us  that 
he  had  found  his  men.  One  of  them  was  John  Bark- 
ley,  the  rich  timber  man,  and  the  other  was  Kedsty, 
Inspector  of  Police  at  Athabasca  Landing." 

Kent  made  no  effort  to  speak.  His  amazement,  as 
McTrigger  had  gone  on,  was  beyond  the  expression  of 
words.  The  night  held  for  him  a  cumulative  shock — 
the  discovery  that  Marette  was  not  dead,  but  alive, 
and  now  the  discovery  that  he,  Jim  Kent,  was  no 
longer  a  hunted  man,  and  that  it  was  O'Connor,  his 


290       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

old  comrade,  who  had  run  the  truth  down.  With  dry 
lips  he  simply  nodded,  urging  McTrigger  to  continue. 

"I  knew  what  would  happen  if  Donald  went  after 
Barkley  and  Kedsty,"  said  the  older  man.  "And  it 
was  impossible  to  hold  him  back.  He  was  mad,  clean 
mad.  There  was  just  one  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  left 
here  first,  with  the  intention  of  warning  the  two  brutes 
who  had  killed  Donald's  wife.  I  knew,  with  the 
evidence  in  our  hands,  they  could  do  nothing  but 
make  a  getaway.  No  matter  how  rich  or  powerful 
they  were,  our  evidence  was  complete,  and  through 
many  years  we  had  kept  track  of  the  movements  of 
our  witnesses.  I  tried  to  explain  to  Donald  that  we 
could  send  them  to  prison,  but  there  was  but  one 
thought  in  his  poor  sick  mind — to  kill.  I  was  younger 
and  beat  him  south.  And  after  that  I  made  my  fatal 
mistake.  I  thought  I  was  far  enough  ahead  of  him 
to  get  down  to  the  line  of  rail  and  back  before  he  ar 
rived.  You  see,  I  figured  his  love  for  Marette  would 
take  him  to  Montreal  first,  and  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  tell  her  everything  so  that  she  might  under 
stand  the  necessity  of  holding  him  if  he  went  to  her. 
I  wrote  everything  to  her  and  told  her  to  remain  in 
Montreal.  How  she  did  that,  you  know.  She  set  out 
for  the  North  as  soon  as  she  received  my  letter." 

McTriggers  shoulders  hunched  lower.  "Well,  you 
know  what  happened,  Kent.  Donald  got  ahead  of 
me,  after  all.  I  came  the  day  after  Barkley  was  killed. 
I  took  it  as  a  kind  fate  that  the  day  preceding  the  kill- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       291 

ing  I  shot  a  grouse  for  my  dinner,  and  as  the  bird  Wc.s 
only  wounded  when  I  picked  it  up,  I  got  blood  on  the 
sleeves  of  my  coat.  I  was  arrested.  Kedsty,  every 
one,  was  sure  they  had  the  real  man.  And  I  kept  quiet, 
except  to  maintain  my  innocence.  I  could  say  nothing 
that  would  turn  the  law  on  Donald's  trail. 

"After  that,  things  happened  quickly.  You,  my 
friend,  made  your  false  confession  to  sate  one  who 
had  done  you  a  poor  service  years  ago.  Almost  simul 
taneously  with  that,  Marette  had  come.  She  came 
quietly,  in  the  night,  and  went  straight  to  Kedsty.  She 
told  him  everything,  showed  him  the  written  evidence, 
telling  him  this  evidence  was  in  the  hands  of  others 
and  would  be  used  if  anything  happened  to  her.  Her 
power  over  him  was  complete.  As  the  price  of  her 
secrecy  she  demanded  my  release,  and  in  that  black 
hour  your  confession  gave  Kedsty  his  opportunity. 

"He  knew  you  were  lying.  He  knew  it  was  Donald 
who  had  killed  Barkley.  Yet  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice 
you  to  save  himself.  And  Marette  remained  in  his 
house,  waiting  and  watching  for  Donald,  while  I 
searched  for  him  on  the  trails.  That  is  why  she  secret 
ly  lived  in  Kedsty's  house.  She  knew  that  Donald 
would  come  there  sooner  or  later,  if  I  did  not  find  him 
and  get  him  away.  And  she  was  plotting  how  to 
save  you. 

"She  loved  you,  Kent — from  that  first  hour  she 
came  to  you  in  the  hospital.  And  she  tried  to  exact 
your  freedom  also  as  an  added  price  for  her  secrecy. 


292       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

But  Kedsty  had  become  like  a  cornered  tiger.  If  he 
freed  you,  he  saw  his  whole  world  crumbling  under  his 
feet.  He,  too,  went  a  little  mad,  I  think.  He  told 
Marette  that  he  would  not  free  you,  that  he  would  go 
to  the  hangman  first.  Then,  Kent,  came  the  night 
of  your  freedom,  and  a  little  later — Donald  came  to 
Kedsty's  home.  It  was  he  whom  you  saw  that  night 
out  in  the  storm.  He  entered  and  killed  Kedsty. 

"Something  dragged  Marette  down  to  the  room 
that  night.  She  found  Kedsty  in  his  chair — dead. 
Donald  was  gone.  It  was  then  that  you  found  her 
there.  Kent,  she  loved  you — and  you  will  never  know 
*iow  her  heart  bled  when  she  let  you  think  she  had 
killed  Kedsty.  She  has  told  me  everything.  It  was 
her  fear  for  Donald,  her  desire  to  keep  all  possible  sus 
picion  from  him  until  he  was  safe,  that  compelled  her 
not  to  confide  even  in  you.  Later,  when  she  knew 
that  Donald  must  be  safe,  she  was  going  to  tell  you. 
And  then — you  were  separated  at  the  Chute."  Mc- 
Trigger  paused,  and  Kent  saw  him  choke  back  a  grief 
that  was  still  like  the  fresh  cut  of  a  knife  in  his  heart 

"And  O'Connor  found  out  all  this?" 

McTrigger  nodded.  "Yes.  He  defied  Kedsty's 
command  to  go  to  Fort  Simpson  and  was  on  his  way 
back  to  Athabasca  Landing  when  he  found  my  brother. 
It  is  strange  how  all  things  happened,  Kent.  But  I 
guess  God  must  have  meant  it  that  way.  Donald  was 
dying.  And  in  dying,  for  a  space,  his  old  reason  re 
turned  to  him.  It  was  from  him,  before  he  died,  that 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       293 

O'Connor  learned  everything.  The  story  is  known 
everywhere  now.  It  is  marvelous  that  you  did  not 
hear " 

There  came  an  interruption,  the  opening  of  a  door. 
Anne  McTrigger  stood  looking  at  them  where  a  little 
time  before  she  had  disappeared  with  Marette.  There 
was  a  glad  smile  in  her  face.  Her  dark  eyes  were 
glowing  with  a  new  happiness.  First  they  rested  on 
McTrigger's  face,  and  then  on  Kent's. 

"Marette  is  much  better/'  she  said  in  her  soft  voice. 
"She  is  waiting  to  see  you,  M'sieu  Kent.  Will  you 
come  now  ?" 

Like  one  in  a  dream  Kent  went  toward  her.  He 
picked  up  his  pack,  for  with  its  precious  contents  it 
had  become  to  him  like  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  And 
as  the  woman  led  the  way  and  Kent  followed  her, 
McTrigger  did  not  move  from  the  fireplace.  In  a  lit 
tle  while  Anne  McTrigger  came  back  into  the  room. 
Her  beautiful  eyes  were  aglow.  She  was  smiling 
softly,  and  putting  her  arms  about  the  shoulders  of 
the  man  at  the  fireplace,  she  whispered : 

"I  have  looked  at  the  night  through  the  window, 
Malcolm.  I  think  that  the  stars  are  bigger  and  brighter 
than  they  have  been  in  a  long  time.  And  the  Watcher 
seems  like  a  living  god  up  in  the  sky.  Come,  please." 

She  took  his  hand,  and  Malcolm  went  with  her.  Over 
their  heads  burned  a  glory  of  stars.  The  wind  came 
gently  up  the  valley,  cool  with  the  freshness  of  the 
mountain-tops,  sweet  with  the  smell  of  meadow  and 


294       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

flowers.  And  when  -the  woman  pointed  through  the 
glow,  Malcolm  McTrigger  looked  up  at  the  Watcher, 
and  for  an  instant  he  fancied  that  he  saw  what  she 
had  seen — something  that  was  life  instead  of  death, 
a  glow  of  understanding  and  of  triumph  in  the  mighty 
face  of  stone  above  the  lace  mists  of  the  clouds.  For 
a  long  time  they  walked  on,  and  deep  in  the  heart 
of  the  woman  a  voice  cried  out  again  and  again  that 
the  Watcher  knew,  and  that  it  was  a  living  joy  she  saw 
up  there,  for  up  to  that  unmoving  and  voiceless  god 
of  the  mountains  she  had  cried  and  laughed  and  sung — - 
and  even  prayed ;  and  with  her  Marette  had  also  done 
these  things,  until  at  last  the  pulse  and  beat  of  women's 
souls  had  given  a  spirit  to  a  form  of  rock. 

Back  in  the  chateau  which  Malcolm  McTrigger  and 
his  brother  Donald  had  built  of  logs,  in  a  room  whose 
windows  faced  the  Watcher  himself,  Marette  was  un 
veiling  the  last  of  mystery  for  Jim  Kent.  And  this, 
too,  was  her  hour  of  triumph.  Her  lips  were  red  and 
warm  with  the  flush  brought  there  by  Kent's  love. 

Her  face  was  like  the  wild  roses  he  had  crushed 
under  his  feet  all  that  day.  For  in  this  hour  the  world 
had  come  to  her,  and  had  prostrated  itself  at  her  feet. 
The  sacred  contents  of  the  pack  were  in  her  lap  as  she 
leaned  back  in  the  great  blanketed  and  pillowed  chair 
that  had  been  her  invalid's  nest  for  many  days.  But 
it  was  an  invalid's  nest  no  longer.  The  floods  of  life 
were  pounding  through  her  body  again,  and  in  that 
hour  when  Malcolm  McTrigger  and  his  wife  were 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       295 

gone,  Kent  looked  upon  the  miracle  of  its  change.  And 
now  Marette  gave  to  him  a  little  packet,  and  while 
Kent  opened  it  she  raised  both  hands  to  her  head  and 
unbound  her  hair  so  that  it  fell  about  her  in  shining 
and  glorious  confusion. 

Kent,  unwrapping  a  last  bit  of  tissue-paper,  found 
in  his  hands  a  long  tress  of  hair. 

"See,  Jeems,  it  has  grown  fast  since  I  cut  it  that 
night." 

She  leaned  a  little  toward  him,  parting  her  hair 
with  slim,  white  fingers  so  that  he  saw  again  where 
the  hair  had  been  clipped  the  night  of  Kedsty's  death. 

And  then  she  said:  "You  may  keep  it  always  if 
you  want  to,  Jeems,  for  I  cut  it  from  my  head  when 
I  left  you  in  the  room  below,  and  when  you — almost — 
believed  I  had  killed  Kedsty.  It  was  this " 

She  gave  him  another  packet,  and  her  lips  tightened 
a  little  as  Kent  unwrapped  it,  and  another  tress  of  hair 
shimmered  in  the  lamp  glow. 

"That  was  father  Donald's,"  she  whispered. 

"It — it  was  all  he  had  left  of  Marie,  his  wife.  And 
that  night — when  Kedsty  died " 

"I  understand,"  cried  Kent,  stopping  her.  "He 
choked  Kedsty  with  it  until  he  was  dead.  And  when 
I  found  it  around  Kedsty's  neck — you — you  let  me 
think  it  was  yours — to  save  father  Donald!" 

She  nodded.  "Yes,  Jeems.  If  the  police  had  come, 
they  would  have  thought  I  was  guilty.  I  planned  to  let 
them  think  so  until  father  Donald  was  safe.  But  all 


296       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

the  time  I  had  here  in  my  breast  this  other  tress,  which 
would  prove  that  I  was  innocent — when  the  time  came. 
And  now,  Jeems " 

She  smiled  at  him  again  and  reached  out  her  hands. 
"Oh,  I  feel  so  strong!  And  I  want  to  take  you  out 
now — and  show  you  my  valley — Jeems — our  valley — 
yours  and  mine — in  the  starlight.  Not  tomorrow, 
Jeems.  But  tonight.  Now." 

A  little  later  the  Watcher  looked  down  on  them, 
even  as  it  had  looked  down  on  another  man  and  an 
other  woman  who  had  preceded  them.  But  the  stars 
were  bigger  and  brighter,  and  the  white  cap  of  snow 
that  rested  on  the  Watcher's  head  like  a  crown  caught 
the  faint  gleam  of  a  far-away  light;  and  after  that, 
slowly  and  wonderfully,  other  snow-crested  mountain- 
tops  caught  that  greeting  radiance  of  the  moon.  But 
it  was  the  Watcher  v/ho  stood  out  like  a  mighty  god 
among  them  all,  and  when  they  came  to  the  elbow  in 
the  plain,  Marette  drew  Kent  down  beside  her  on  a 
great  flat  rock  and  laughed  softly  as  she  held  his  hand 
tightly  in  her  lap. 

"Always,  from  a  little  child,  I  have  sat  and  played 
on  this  rock,  with  the  Watcher  looking,  like  that,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "I  have  grown  to  love  him,  Jeems. 
And  I  have  always  believed  that  he  was  gazing  off 
there,  night  and  day,  into  the  east,  watching  for  some 
thing  that  was  coming  to  me.  Now  I  know.  It  was 
you,  Jeems.  And,  Jeems,  when  I  was  away — down 
there  in  the  big  city " 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN       297 

Her  fingers  gripped  his  thumb  in  their  old  way,  and 
Kent  waited. 

"It  was  the  Watcher  that  made  me  want  to  come 
home  most  of  all,"  she  went  on,  a  bit  of  tremble  in 
her  voice.  "Oh,  I  grew  lonely  for  him,  and  I  could 
see  him  in  my  dreams  at  night,  watching,  watching, 
watching,  and  sometimes  even  calling  me.  Jeems,  do 
you  see  that  hump  on  his  left  shoulder,  like  a  great 
epaulet?" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Kent. 

"Beyond  that,  on  a  straight  line  from  here — hun 
dreds  of  miles  away — are  Dawson  City,  the  Yukon, 
the  big  gold  country,  men,  women,  civilization.  Fa 
ther  Malcolm  and  father  Donald  have  never  found  but 
one  trail  to  this  side  of  the  mountains,  and  I  have  been 
over  it  three  times — to  Dawson.  But  the  Watcher's 
back  is  on  those  things.  Sometimes  I  imagine  it  was 
he  who  built  those  great  ramparts  through  which  few 
men  come.  He  wants  this  valley  alone.  And  so  do  I. 
Alone — with  you,  and  with  my  people." 

Kent  drew  her  close  in  his  arms.  "When  you  are 
stronger,"  he  whispered,  "we  will  go  over  that  hidden 
trail  together,  past  the  Watcher,  toward  Dawson.  For 
it  must  be  that  over  there — we  will  find — a  mission- 
er "  He  paused. 

"Please  go  on,  Jeems." 

"And  you  will  be — my  wife." 

"Yes,  yes,  Jeems — forever  and  ever.  But,  Jeems" — 


298       THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

her  arms  crept  up  about  his  neck — "very  soon  it  will 
be  the  first  of  August." 

-Yes ?" 

"And  in  that  month  there  come  through  the  moun 
tains,  each  year,  a  man  and  a  woman  to  visit  us — 
mother  Anne's  father  and  mother.  And  mother 
Anne's  father " 

-Yes ?" 

"Is  a  missioner,  Jeems." 

And  Kent,  looking  up  in  this  hour  of  his  triumph 
and  joy,  believed  that  in  the  Watcher's  face  he  caught 
for  an  instant  the  passing  radiance  of  a  smile. 


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